This poem reflects on the glory of God, as well as the shortcomings, benefits, and necessity of being a Christian in a fallen generation. The poem ends with God himself responding to the doubts of Brother Humbled, the pride of Two Dope, and addressing issues mentioned throughout the other poems.
God, I’m your messed up messenger.
You wonderfully made me.
It’s an honor to be an heir of privilege,
A visionary for the Invisible King
The world needs to see You,
But I’m a foggy window to Your glory.
I sought comfort in Pan’s thinking and suicidal thoughts.
I was a deer in headlights,
on a wrong path trying to veer right.
My good deeds are just scuffs on a dirty rag.
Yet You washed my heart clean of all iniquities.
If I’m blessed, it’s Your decision.
If I’m depressed, it’s Your benediction.
Without Your permission,
there’s no other way that I can enter heaven.
This might not be the perfect prayer.
At times it feels like
I’m having conversations with dust particles
while Your back is giving me the cold shoulder.
I’m carrying my burdens, the size of boulders.
Yet You have the nerve
to rain down your blessings for others on earth.
I wrestle with angels, displaying my worth in works.
Am I truly worthy of staying in Your holy courts?
I’m tightrope walking the narrow road
with bruised feet, struggling not to fall off.
Playing nice with my vices.
Viewing naked women as objects.
Bewitching my eyes from the roof of David
to the eternal skies of heaven.
I continually fall short of holding Your pierced hands.
What more do You want from me, a man?
Brother Humbled, mercifully have I kept you.
You are my image bearer.
Whether or not you can bear your struggles,
I bore your sins.
The weight of the world wore me down, but
I dealt the mortal blow to death.
With my final breath, I laid it to rest.
So have your questions.
I give you my Word, I answered them.
While you wanted to kill yourself,
I allowed you to die to your old self.
The same way I signed my own death warrant.
I waged war against the world I founded,
The piles of dust I fashioned out of love and glory.
Just to show you I love you when I said
There is guaranteed victory in those who fight for me.
Just put on my equipment and endure.
I’ll slay your Goliath,
using small pebbles of faith
to obliterate armies of evil into oblivion.
For your debts, I’d endure millions of crosses
to get the point across that you are worth every second.
And for every hour I agonize, you are still important.
No matter the pace of the race,
you are still covered by grace.
You are made in My image.
You are forever forgiven.
You are my Imperfect Portrait.