NoMoreDeadlyDoing – Learning to live by grace, not striving.

Tag: pride

  • The Dragons I Once Sought to Slay

    The dragons I
    once sought to slay
    have changed their title,
    but not their embrace.

    I used to die
    for just a taste—
    and now I deny myself
    to loosen their grip,
    so I won’t give in
    when I slip.

    Their teeth look
    different now,
    and it’s strange how
    they smile at me
    the same.
    Behind them still burns
    a flame—
    not a force to tame,
    but one to avoid.

    Burn the wound,
    let it keloid;
    try not to
    open it again.
    The devil’s smooth—
    but never my friend.

    The pride feels
    different now;
    it arrives as
    righteousness abounds.
    Yet it steals my joy—
    because it takes away Yours.

    Though they did not
    die by my sword,
    they surround me
    no more.
    They submit not
    to me,
    but to the One
    I serve;
    they quickly flee.

    For no beast
    can contend
    with the mercy
    of my Lord.
    When they blew
    their fire,
    it only refined me—
    while He restored.

  • 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.