Sitting with hands together at church, singing, listening, smelling
Mold, from the sponge I used earlier to clean dishes.
Trying to impress a friend with hard work, service, food.
Efforts, trying to earn love and constantly manipulating
Trying to prove myself as strong, powerful, humble
Disgusting. I wanted to smell something else.
Holding, grasping my hands, the Father looks at me
Sees His Son and I am cleared of my sin.
Nothing I have done, His Son's blood.
Tenderly, He holds my hands as I confess
Repenting of these futile, selfish attempts at challenging your standard.
