Sometimes it boggles my mind how at odds this poor body is.
How can these eyes peruse the very words of God and turn to feast on internet
filth? How can this heart meditate and store up holy truths and yet become the
very fountain of evil? How can these hands serve the King of kings and continue
to be the very instruments by which this flesh carries out its lustful
machinations? Truly wretched are you, sinful creature.
Where is my help?
To whom shall I turn?
Who will save me from this body of death?
I tremble to think of what His eyes would have looked like,
what His heart would have said, what His nail-pierced hands would have felt
like, when I come to Him with nothing but a tired, broken body. I yearn to be
Home, but only in Your perfect time.
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