Crappy Angsty Poetry by Stephanie

Still…You.

Clinging to Grace
Because that’s all there’s ever been
But it’s more than I ever hoped to find

in family, friends, and the fantasy of a home that’s anywhere but your arms.

Ironic, isn’t it?

Grace.

Drop the mask of pure perfection

And feel much cleaner than before.

Ditch the goal of independence

And find the meaning of secure.

The ironic relief.

when perfection and independence are surrendered.

when helplessness is ok. Welcomed, even.

when I trust in the One that can save, knowing it’s not me. 

when I bask in the unfathomable truth that

I.   Don’t.    Have.    To.    Be.    Perfect!

…For you to love me

I don’t have to be perfect for you to forgive me, for you to use me—

You already do, already have, already are—What a miracle!

I know this.

Believe this

Memorize, sing and preach this.

But still…

Grace is so hard when it’s so easy.

See, I’ve never been good at taking charity.

I’ve never been good at accepting gifts.

I’m naked, starved, broke and incompetent

I’m orphaned, blind, lame and ignorant

But still!

I hand you my bloody tampons and say,

            Here!                

                 Take these! 

                      Let me earn my keep,

                          Help you out and prove that

                              I AM WORTH SAVING!!!!

And then grace hits.

Like a unforeseen slap from the hand of humility

And I know.

I could never earn my keep.

I could never make up for it.

I coule never match your perfection or your sacrifice,

Where your blood was wasted on my account.

No. 

Not wasted; waste implies a mistake, and you knew what you were doing.

You knew.

Who I was

What I had have to offer…or didn’t.

And STILL.

still you…

                        and that

                                    is the miracle.