In His perfection,
Our imperfections are made whole.
Like a broken pot
with cracks running down all sides
chips along all the edges
barely able to hold any worth in.
Our value [seemingly] depreciating with every drop.
Our delicate structure worn off,
Mishandled and manhandled,
with the holes to show for it.
If I had a pot like that,
I'd throw it away.
Yet, with everything,
He willingly replaces our ashes
For his beauty.
Our imperfections made whole
in his perfections
Molding and building us back up
To be how we were made to be.
Who we were created to be.
11/30/2011 | Category: | 5 Fabulalalas