I am good. I am not.
I am nothing without fault.
But I’m pure. No, I’m false.
I am empty of all that’s ought.
See, I’m striving. I am grasping.
But I’m still short of what’s lasting.
Yet I’m working. I am yearning.
I am all fails, never earning.
I am death. I am weary.
I am far too broken and needy.
I am less. I am lacking.
I’m still barren despite my trying.
I’m without gifts to bring to the table.
I’ve been wrong. I’ve been lied to.
Now lay I buried heavy under failures.
I’ve been forgetful. I’ve been falling.
I must ever be reminding.
You are good. You are able.
It is You who fills the table.
You are perfect. You are blameless.
It is Your blood that ends the contest.
You are Finisher. You are Justifier.
Your work alone does all that matters.
I am Yours. I am purchased.
I no longer live under the tyranny of my own goodness.