I think back on my life
And recall the shameful things
I've done
And I want to hide.
I remember the me that was,
The me that was lost
In the darkness;
The me that I've fought
So hard
To leave behind--
The me that still fights
Somewhere deep inside my heart
Against a painful upbringing
And mental illness.
Who could love me
Knowing who I was
And what I am capable of?
Who could possibly care
What happens to me?
How can I expect anyone
To forgive me
When I cannot forgive myself?
Yet every spring
I am reminded
That I am not only forgiven
But also adored
By the One who died
To give me endless chances
At getting things right.
A man guilty only of love
Willingly gave His life
That I might live,
Asking only that I love Him
And trust Him
In return.
And so, each spring,
I am bathed in a light so bright
That I am renewed,
If not innocent,
Once more,
And I thank Him
Through tears of joy.