My gift is language, but even so, I will never be able to capture all you are to me.
Flailing with my words, they come out unpolished.
But who can find language beautiful enough for you, Lord.
You, who give us life.
Who accept us as we are.
Who forgive us of all we do.
Who watch us kneel in prayer,
and then go into the world
and do the opposite of what you have for us.
Who pray for your will to be revealed,
and then when we see it,
do all we can to undermine your plans
– even those more incredible than we imagined for ourselves.
I struggle so much to approach you at times.
My sin plays back to me in my mind
and, as imperfect as I am and as perfect as I know you are,
I still can’t imagine you having grace enough for me.
But you do.
Lord, for whatever shortcomings my words present to you,
please accept my posture of prayers as a way to make up for this.
On my knees, head bowed, tears streaming.
I am who you made me to be.
My gift is language,
but even so, I will never be able to capture all you are to me.
All I can do is be genuine:
I love you, Lord. I always will.