He Says

Here is the poem I promised to share. It's far from perfect (believe me!), because I've never really dabbled in poetry much, but this is sort of how it came out, with or without meter or rhyme.

He Says

In heaven, they say, there is a God,

whom the Bible declares is loving;

that He sees me fall and yet forgives all,

but, oh, are His hands held out to me?

He says I’m His dove, I’m His princess royal,

He says that He thinks I’m flawless,

but I’m soiled and stained and ragged and torn, so tell me,

are His hands held out to me?

He says that He cares, He says that He’s good,

He says that His blood is atoning,

but how can He see all that I do, and still hold out His hands to me?

He says that He knows that I’ll stumble and fall,

He says that it’s all forgiven.

But still I don’t see what He finds in me,

that makes my redemption worth the price.

For He shed His blood on Calvary’s cross,

thinking not of Himself, but me.

And the blood that He lost, covered the cost

of the sins that made me a debtor.

And when I believed, He gave full reprieve

and welcomed me then as His child

And now I see that what He says is true,

and His hands are really held out to me.

Still I don’t understand how I can act

as if all of this never happened.

How I can turn my back and forget He’s there –

holding out His hands to me.

He says to be still and know He is God,

and though I really do try;

so quickly my mind fills with other thoughts

and He is pushed out and forgotten.

Then I struggle and fight and try to do right

but sin is an impulse so tempting

that more often than not, I give in and ignore

the God that is holding His hands out for me.

I get so exhausted trying to do what is right,

because my resistance seems so futile

but one thing I know,

that no matter the sin,

no matter the wrong,

no matter the awful thing I’ve done,

He’ll look in my eyes and say without pause:

“My darling, My hands are held out to you.”

'Till next time,

© JocelynRose 2011