Dirt

God, my fear is consuming.
My mind is filled with worries and the blood flowing from those wounds form years ago that somehow have been reopened.
The blood is making it hard to see you.
It lies to me and says that I am too unclean. It tells me that the wound needs to clot and I need to clean myself up and learn to stop picking at the scabs and then maybe I can go into the throne room with a good conscience.
I am yet again blinded by sin. My own and the others who have broken me.
But when I enter your presence, I feel whole again. When I see you I want to run to you because I miss you. I miss my first love.
But then I become aware that my hair is matted and my skin is dirty and I run away and try to hide because I know I am not to come into the King’s presence like this.
I hide my face away, and anytime I try to look upon your loving face again, I cry because I’m so scared that you’ll see me and push me away, like the others. So I try to save myself the hurt and I push you away first. Every other man in my life didn’t seem to care, so why would you?
I am so vastly aware of my iniquities and my incompetency and the pain that I have caused you. I am so aware of the sin that covers me head to toe. Its under my fingernails and in my mouth. It clouds my senses and I can’t see that you’re coming towards me with water and a towel to cleanse me.
When I finally sense your presence again, I hold you back at arms length saying, “Lord I am unworthy for you to wash my feet. Give me some time and I’ll come back cleaner. Not perfect, but at least you won’t have to work as hard.”
Your loving face smiles at me, and with tears in your eyes you grab my hand ever so gently and pour warm water to wash the dirt off.
I pull my hand back and look at you. “I don’t deserve this. You know I don’t. I can’t do it. ” tears role down your cheek and you hold out your hand and whisper, “please”.
Now it is my decision whether or not to give you my life to clean. The voices keep saying “not worth not worthy not worthy” but I know that you are shouting “SUFFICIENT SUFFICIENT SUFFICIENT”.

Grace, what have you done?
Murdered for me on that cross.
Accused in absence of wrong
My sin washed away in your blood

Too much to make sense of it all
I know that your love breaks my fall
The scandal of grace, you died in my place so my soul will live.