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 Thoughts of pride

Come unbidden, 

Swelling like a comforting, 

Wonderful wave 

In my soul. 

And I am surprised

To find this evil in my heart. 

And dismayed. I start

Bailing foul water in a state of

Panic, what if God sees

This and smites me down? 

I try to change my thoughts, 

Yell at my brain. 

Panic. Worry. Drown.  

Then I remember. 

Can’t fight fire

With fire. 

Can’t overcome sin 

With fear. 

I am broken beyond repair. 

A man cannot do open-heart

Surgery on himself, no matter how

Steady his hands. 

And there is comfort there,

Inside this pine box of truth. 

When pounding ceases

When the clenched fist releases. 

Dead men aren’t supposed to live.

They aren't expected to live. 

There's no pressure on them to perform. 

Dead men are dead. 

I was never intended

To get myself righteous. 

I will never fix this. 

Exhale. Let it go 

All the way out. And out. And out. 

And no more in. And no more in. 

Be still and know that He is God. 

This is the Gospel. 

I am dead in sin

But I don’t have to rescue myself. 

This is the Gospel. 

I am broken beyond repair. 

But I don’t have to fix myself.  

And this is the Gospel. 

I am God’s problem to solve. 

And His solution was crucifixion. 

For He alone is good

And I am only void forever.  

And never the twain shall meet

Except in the intersection

Between earth and Heaven

In the cross of Jesus Christ. 

And this is the Gospel. 

That moment

When you step out from under

The crushing weight of perfection

And then turn back to see perfection


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