Who am I?
A jumbled mess and a masterpiece.
Mentally and spiritually strong, yet weak.
Shaping, bewildering, molding, and tearing me.
All these things, how can they be?
I fall to my knees.
I beg and plead.
Show me the truth, so I can see.
My soul quickly swells with a binding peace.
The answer’s clear. I now can see!
A man, a cross, and shed blood made it be.
The beautiful and the wretched, the mosaic is me.
One response to “The Mosaic Is Me.”
I love this poem. I am a mess too and so are most Christians. But God can makes messes into mosaics. 💕💕
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