Looking at myself with a criticizing eye,
Noticing every flaw, outer and inner,
Triply magnified,
Larger than life.
I cannot be perfect--
I can never be perfect
I cannot be good--
That “good child” Mama always implored me to be,
I cannot do it.
God, here I am—that old hymn--
“Just as I am, without one plea.”*
No places unlit by Your brilliant spotlight,
Lighting up all the corners and leaving
No shadows to hide the imperfect me.
I flinch, I flee.
But still, you find me.
You love me,
Just me.
You accept me,
Whether I change or not--
You still love and accept me.
Who am I, to say I cannot be--
I am not good enough to be--
Who God calls me to be?
Maybe, just maybe,
He knows what He’s talking about.
Maybe I can be.
* “Just as I am,” a hymn by Charlotte Elliott, 1835