This poem made me stop and think for a while on just how quickly we can jump to the belief that God really doesn’t care for us when the fundamental nature of our existence depends upon his love for us being creative and continuous to sustain our lives.
They say You built me out of clay,
They say You love me,
But, what is Love?
They say You’re angry with the world,
They say You want to see us burn,
Is this Love?
They say I can never truly know all of You,
They say You’re unapproachable,
This doesn’t sound like Love.
They praise with their tongue,
Speak words of “wisdom” in my ear,
Do they Love you?
But, the next they disobey you with their bodies,
And, set fire to Your words,
How can this be Love?
God, I can be just like them.
I can fall custom to this world.
God, I am just like them.
A hypocrite girl.
But, even though I am a sinner,
Even though I fail you enough.
They say You died on a cross for me,
And, this is Love.