Did I mention that I’m messed up?
I mean to do right but I do wrong.
And sometimes, I mean to do wrong and I do just that.
There is good in me; it shows through on occasion,
But many times the bad outweighs it and the wicked outdoes it.
That is why I would never say that I’m perfect—
How could I be?
I always thought I wasn’t worth much,
At least not by most men’s standards;
And God definitely had better things to think about,
Than to occupy himself with the likes of me
Religion was never my thing;
Gatherings in sombre buildings did my head in
But then I found out my inside was bleaker
Than the structures from which I fled;
That I needed a power greater than I
To show me a way I could not find.
One day someone said “Grace”.
That word now means so much
It is when I, the flawed, become the perfected
Not so much because someone fixed the flaws,
But because someone totally un-flawed stood in my place,
And covered me up completely
Grace—that’s why Jesus came
I’m so grateful He wasn’t after perfection,
I would never have been able to give it
Instead, He made me worthy; He paid the price
So that flawed as I was, I’m now brand new;
Lost as I was, I’m forever found.