Beauty

I’ve messed up. Many, many times.

I suspect that you have, too. At least once.

Sometimes, when I think about what I’ve done, said, thought, felt,

I begin to think of myself as unworthy.

That I don’t deserve good.

That I don’t deserve happy.

That I don’t deserve beauty.

Some might say that’s the depravity of flesh.

The inability to do a good thing.

An acute case of unrighteousness.

I wonder, though, how the image of God fits in that depraved flesh.

Because I know I’m fearfully and wonderfully made,

I know that I’m not a lost cause. Neither are you.

I get a gift. And it’s free.

No strings.

Just grace and love and more chances.

I don’t deserve beauty. Maybe not.

But I get it.

He’s just good like that.