Father, we come . . .
we look in all the wrong places.
we look in the mirror and at the mirage we've made our relationships out to be.
we look in all their crevices for hidden nuggets of gold.
all that wanting we have is in vein.
all that wanting we have is in pride.
all that wanting we have is in conceit.
we complain and make a big deal out of all the tiny little things that you say don't matter.
we complain and mock all the seemingly insignificant things that you say actually are a big deal.
we complain and miss how you specifically placed them in our lives, on purpose and for purpose.
a song tells us everything we want to be told, though we struggle to believe.
a song tells us that all of our curves and all of our edges are loved.
a song tells us even our imperfections are perfect.
it's You who says we're more than just loud, clunky tin.
it's You who reminds us that all that glitters is not gold.
it's You who refines us through the fire.
we want to be held.
we want to be treasured.
we want to be accepted.
might we give them more credit for loving us.
might we give more in spite of their lack, and ours.might we give more . . . even as we doubt, fear, and wrestle.
P.S. might we receive the words of this song as Your gift to us.