He knew me.
I mean really knew me.
Knew everything that I had done
Or failed to be.
Yet, I found myself wrapped
In His warm embrace.
My eyes closed, and I rested,
Filled with His love and grace.
He covered my tattered rags—
Took away my shame—
With His white woolen robe
And gave me His name.
My skin had changed.
It was so clean.
Cleaner than if I’d bathed
In a cool mountain spring.
His skin was covered
In what used to plague mine.
This thick oily substance,
Blacker than grime.
His stride was determined.
He didn’t relent.
His destiny, his burden
His face set like flint.
In the distance, clouds parted
To reveal the sin-stained man
(though not His sin but mine)
On the lonely mountain.
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