Abstract: He’s Not Me
Somedays I wish the Lord hated me the way I hate me,
one eye on what I did wrong, the other on what I haven’t done at all.
I wish He’d level me with His judgement,
and declare my soul inept.
But, that fucker* doesn’t do it.
I know.
I’m not suppose to refer to the Lord,
Creator of All,
Prince of Peace,
as a fucker.
I’m not suppose to hate myself either,
but here we are,
driving our way through all types of new territory.
Of course, Jesus is not a fucker,
or hater,
or judger,
or condemner.
I am those things.
I write people off,
places I don’t like,
and crappy restaurants.
I’m the fucker,
I’m the imperfect vision of heaven.
And for all my vulgarity and bravado,
He’s still my friend, my strength, and my God.
His thoughts are not my thoughts,
His declarations and promises never revoked,
and His love is the optimistic-faith kind of love.
It never fails or stops trying,
It’s kind, patient, and generous.
Even when I am none of those things,
He is forever who He is,
the true and great I Am.
*I don’t ask anyone to understand why I cuss in my writing. Please respect it. In my view, the last thing the world needs is another safe/sterile Christian unwilling to talk about their low points and frustrations in real language.
