Mirror

How can I fail? “I must not fail.” To be worthy, I must prove my worth.
But I fail. And I hide:
Walls of confidence, towers of sarcastic humor, and moats of “I’m doing great!”
guard my beating reality, under siege from a relentless opponent.
An aching heart, an abandoned friend, a failing brother…
people I see every day, these I unhesitatingly accept for their true worth.
I do not see their failure; I see God’s image and purpose,
melded in the most beautiful of patterns, somehow more gorgeous in each unique
portrait.
But my own emotional mirror looms, cracked by self-loathing and stained with guilt, revealing my doubt, my fear, my hatred; screaming
“Shame!”

…Shame. How can I forgive myself? How can I love myself? How can I fail?

The battle intensifies; each shaft and barb of my worthy foe pointed at my
soul-- “NO!”
I won’t let go; of what gives me my “strength.” Of what defines me….
I won’t let go.
Of who I am, I’ve lost sight after a lifetime of being my own handyman.
But now my walls are crumbling; How do I repair them again?

Who am I? Remove this guiltless guilt and driving excellence, break me down--
“NO!” not like that. Anything but that.
But now I must trust. Now I must believe. My toolbox is empty,
“God, what have I done?”
My walls are gone, my towers destroyed, my moat evaporated.
Like a crusading army, He has pillaged my treasure: my beating reality.
Just heal them; I’ll be fine. Lies.
What I have always known to be right seems wrong, and what seems wrong I do.
I am monstrosity, vice, greed, hubris, storming in endless circles--
“Shame!”

…Shame. How could I love others? Who am I?


A man’s castle is his home, so they say. And I am homeless.
Prostrate in the reeking mud of my own afflictions: my own affections.
I must let go; of what gives me my “strength.” Of what defines me….
I must let go.
Of who I am, give me sight; they tell me You are the only Handyman.
Prove it then; I’ve let go. What is my reality?


“We are not how good we are,
We are not our failures;
Our identity is as children of Yours:
The Beloved.”


The mud still surrounds me, my entourage of filth.
But on my knees, I stand higher than I ever did on my feet.
I am crushed…. by hope. Defeated, broken, slain…. By love.
I hear my Savior say, “Thy strength indeed is small.
Child of weakness, watch and pray.
Find in me, thine all in all.”


Who am I? You removed this guiltless guilt and driving excellence, break me down--
“Finally!” I surrender.
Now I trust. Now I believe. I am Your toolbox.
You sealed her heart. “God, how did you do that?”
My walls are gone, my towers destroyed, my moat evaporated.
Like a glorious chorus, His shining army presents His treasure: His beating Reality.
What I have always know to be right, was; but life hurts.
I am broken, forgiven, rebuilt, and named:
“God is gracious.”

….God is gracious. That is who I am.

How can I fail? “I will always fail.” But by choice not act, I have been found worthy.
I fail. And I hide.
But my God is my castle. He is my hiding place.
My beating reality is dead; His beating Reality has already died:
Been there, done that, no need to die again.
An aching heart, an abandoned friend, a failing brother…
people I see every day, these I unhesitatingly accept for their true worth.
I do not see their failure; I see God’s image and purpose,
melded in the most beautiful of patterns, somehow more gorgeous in each unique
portrait.
I turn to my mirror, cleansed and reflective as the best of friends.
I am His, and none others. Joy wells from the springs of my heart, Screaming--

It is well.

I will not boast in anything,
No gifts, no power, no wisdom.
But I will boast in Jesus Christ,
His death and resurrection.

Why do you run?