Who Am I?

 

 

 

Who am I?

I contemplate the question,

But little comes to mind.

A girl with strange ideas,

Kind of wild and crazy too,

A mess of curls and plain complexion,

Short stature, and not the shape

That magazines will publicize or make look great.

To the world, I am not that smart

And seem to be quite useless in their mind,

And so I cry.

Who am I?

If I have no purpose

And if not beautiful on the outside

Then who am I?

And so I cry.

 

While the world tells me lies

And I sometimes believe everyone,

I must turn to scripture

And see what my creator and maker says,

About who I am.

 

My creator,

He fashioned me in my mother’s womb,

Made my eyes green,

Gave me a heart of compassion and love,

And hands to serve,

And a smile that brings cheer,

And laughter that ripples through the air.

He created me for a purpose and a plan,

For his glory,

And for his joy.

He delights in me with singing,

Cause I am his.

He bought me with a price.

He create me

And bought me back.

With his very own son’s blood

He paid the price.

He loves me. Truly, he loves me!

Like no other, he loves me.

No love can compare,

Though at times I despair

By putting hope in man,

Yet their opinion is nothing

To Christ and his steadfast love.

 

When lies come crashing in

And my heart is weary and unsteady,

And I falter and become weak,

And discouraged too.

Because of the lies that insist

On breaking my heart within.

When I feel useless and broken inside,

When I feel ugly looking on the outside,

Because I can’t meet the standards of this world,

Then I must turn my eyes back to Christ,

Back to the scriptures;

Back to the truth.

 

The world didn’t make me

Nor do I belong in this world.

So their opinion really doesn’t matter

In the end.

I am just a traveler,

My home is not here.

My home is in heaven

Where I will reside with my creator, the father of light.

And it’s what he thinks that really matters,

It’s His voice that really counts.

 

So when my heart is broken,

When I am feeling lonely inside,

(For example, everyone else has a loved one,

Except I! [But that is a lie too that I sometimes believe.]).

When I hurt because

I think no one cares,

I can look at the cross

Where Calvary lies,

Look at his wounds

In his hands

And his feet,

Look at his side

That was pierced for me,

Look at the ground

Covered with his very own blood,

Look at the crown of thorns on his head

Made for mockery.

And he did it all for me and for you for his glory.

He did it in love.

He did it because he cared.

I am loved by God my creator

And that is all that matters.

He truly cares,

He truly loves.

He loved me when he took the death

That I deserved.

He loved me on Calvary tree.

And so I ask,

Who am I?

 

I am his!