NoMoreDeadlyDoing – Learning to live by grace, not striving.

Tag: humility

  • Temple of Dust

    How can I contain
    Your perfection within
    this flawed husk?
    Why have You poured
    so much love
    into one formed from dust—
    one who will return
    to dirt again?

    Why would You desire
    to call me a friend,
    when after You created me,
    I bit Your hand?
    And even more,
    to call me kin.
    I was lost,
    I spoke heresy—
    still, You waited;
    lost in the dark,
    You illuminated.

    My bones are made
    of lesser material,
    yet You breathe in me
    the spiritual—
    joining the marrow,
    creating a miracle.
    I deny the flesh,
    but cannot bear
    my cross alone.
    It slips and falls each day,
    crushes me, rolls,
    and seals the stone
    that only You remove.
    Yet faith grows stronger
    as I obey
    and You reprove.

    My failures are not
    failures at all—
    You pick me up
    each time I fall.
    You whispered,
    You waited;
    I believed once,
    then hesitated.
    Now I never will again—
    for falling short
    was, and is,
    Your way in.

    May chaos mold me,
    may suffering refine.
    May You shine through,
    and I resign.
    May there be less of me
    and more of You.
    May I silence my voice
    so Yours rings true.
    May intuition
    receive Your vision—
    until holiness
    is the only path.
    Make a temple
    from this pile of dust,
    that will for eternity last.

  • The Sickness Within: Self-Reliance

    There’s a sickness
    that lives inside.
    It doesn’t only want
    to gain wisdom,
    but to be
    known as wise—
    the quiet defilement
    of humility denied.

    I catch myself
    on the edge
    of this descent
    far too often.
    By some miracle,
    I pray my awareness softens
    what I deserve—
    and after repentance,
    that it does not return.

    Yet here I am again,
    holding hands with pride
    as if it were my friend,
    wounding my true companions.
    For they could see
    that I made myself a fool.
    I opened my mouth,
    though my eyes
    were covered with wool.

    The blood rushed
    to my head,
    and instead of pride,
    anger erupted in its stead.
    Is this innate,
    or simply what I’ve fed?
    Is it too late,
    or have I made my bed?

    No—this cannot be true.
    Because though I slip,
    I return to You.
    Though my words defile,
    You still renew.
    The shame of the past
    glorifies the sanctified present.
    Sin rose ten times,
    but my knee bent eleven.

    My flaws reveal
    what You refine;
    the fire is quenched
    by Bread and Wine,
    the Word and Spirit intertwined—
    and quickly they remind
    that I was never created equal
    to the Divine.

    And through my weakness
    is how I find
    that the need for salvation
    required seeing the fault
    to which my will inclined.
    And though I see it again,
    I know now—willpower
    is not a friend.

    For only refuge
    in my High Tower
    removes the cancer
    and brings
    my miserable self-reliance
    to an end.