Category: God

Someone like me—
deals with anxiety.
Caring too much for
what doesn’t matter.
And not enough for
what truly does.

Someone like me—
falls short over and over.
Never enough, never
brave, never perfect.
Failing, flailing,
hurting myself, and others.

Someone like me—
stutters and stumbles.
Struggling with the same
things, every single time.
Wondering if there will ever
be change. Or hope.

Someone like me—
is never understood by
those who surround me.
My thoughts, my dreams,
never match theirs,
dividing my heart in half.

Someone like me—
is unworthy, alone to
face the giants and fears.
Trembling, shaking, shattering,
instead of taking hold of the
stones in my hand.

Someone like me—
is hopeless, a lost cause.
Getting left behind in this life.
Deserving nothing but darkness,
shame, and guilt. The
results of my stupidity.

But Someone like Him—
Redefined my future, redefined
every lie I believe about
myself. With one display
of incomprehensible love—
His death on the cross.

Someone like Him,
has plans for me,
using my failures, my falls,
my anxiety— to create a
masterpiece I can’t see.
Or even start to understand.

Someone like Him,
loves even the most unlovable
pieces of my heart and soul.
Tearing down the walls,
the barrier of sin and hell,
so I can have a forever with Him.

Someone like Him,
With unending mercy and
relentless love, takes my
unworthiness, my guilt, my shame,
and all of the other lies I hold,
and breathes truth into my darkness—

Reaching me with unshakable kindness.
Holding me with unchanging patience.
Freeing me with unfailing grace.

And loving me, when no one should.

A creative mind, an over-thinker,
Always wondering what if,
Always asking how come,
Always needing the why,  

Makes for an introspective person,
Who would rather tell stories
To herself, and poems to the wind,
Than hold a lengthy conversation.

Her hand curls around her pen,
Words and hopes flowing out.
Dreams that will stay unspoken
Slide out in ink over her paper.

It’s here, on paper, that she has the
Control—her thoughts and actions run
The show. The characters in her mind have
No choice, but to do as she says.

This is a place where her mistakes
Never happened; she can fix anything,
And everything, she regrets. She doesn’t
Hesitate, or think, before she speaks.

Real life is hard for her, simply
Because it doesn’t work this way.
She doesn’t have control, she doesn’t
Know the whole, or even part of, the plot.

She can’t imagine Someone knowing,
The story better than she does.
It’s difficult to understand that His words,
And plot, are better than her own.

She still wonders what if, she still asks
How come, and she’ll always long for
the why. But she is learning to find comfort
From the heart of the One who made her.

So with tears in my eyes, I work each finger
Carefully taking each one and letting go,
Releasing my hold off of my pen,
And I give it all back to Him.

There she stood, alone,
Battered and broken beneath
Their glares.

They knew her crime,
The wrong she had done,
And stood willing to throw

Rocks and stones, sharp
Edges in their hands.
Ready to punish, ready to end.

The Teacher came, to see,
To answer their questions,
To make them pause,

To think about their own lives.
And challenge the guiltless,
The perfect, to be the first

To condemn.

The rocks and stones slid
Like snow from their fingers.
As they all went away.

Realizing they had no place
To judge, to blame, to punish.
They were all just as shamed.

Still, she stood, cringing,
Waiting, for her fate from
The One Who was blameless.

He was the One Who
Could condemn. Who could
Reach down for rocks to throw.

But the only thing he picked up,
Were the pieces of her heart
To put back together.

To forgive.


I don’t normally like to explain my poetry. I like to let the imagery speak for itself and let each reader come to their own conclusions. Sure, I always have my own meanings, but I like to let the reader make decisions. But this one is based off of John 8:3-11. I read this passage in my devotional a few days ago and it has stuck with me. The perfect Savior, the One who could have picked up the rocks, did not condemn the woman. He let her go with love and forgiveness. To me, that’s such a strong image, and I wanted to write about it.