He says I have to swallow my pride. Rise above it, actually.
He says I have to cut others the same slack I cut myself.
He says I have to crawl up out of my head and pay attention to the people in front of me.
The air really is clearer and sweeter. Once I get up there.
I can’t tow a rope that’s slack; Leaves my arms free to embrace.
I’ll always have my thoughts, but my people will grow up, grow old, grow sick…
His quirky love is saving me.
And I love Him.
This post was inspired by granonine.