Prodigal

Jesus, I am taking your hand again
As you take a look at my dirty hands
You see my grimy fingers and nails
Covered from being busy in the mire

Jesus, you know why my hands are dirty
Still you reach out and take them
Your heart already wrenched to see me
Wallowing in the steady state I was in

I’m weak, coming out my my stupor
Shocked by my blindness and stench
And you give me a white robe and call me son
Joy that comes from being welcomed home

Father, I praise you for your love
You chastise and discipline me
Bring me out of what once was
Your glory will always abound

All praise to You
–a prodigal son

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