Today I am a shell.

A whisp of a person.

A husk, tossed by the gales of circumstance

from one roaring emotion

to another.

The things I should desire, the God I should pursue, are exhausting to approach.

Though I pray for heart change,

the organ pumps wearily along the same grooved path

without swerve, bump, or list.

Forgive me, God, how I fail you in heart,

in speech, in motive, in mind.

How poisoned am I by the opiates of works-based "pride-ology."

I am always rejecting your freely given, swift lift

in lieu of the impossible climb to your side.

How can I be worth saving? I am not.

How can I be worth loving? I am not.

You offer peace and safety,

redemption to the slave, and life to the corpse,

but oh how the corpse holds fast to its shell

even in death.

Jenny Smith

3705 Oceanview Drive, Denton, TX, 76208