My Doubts, My Story, My Song

By Joy Mastron

My Doubts

I keep thinking to myself,

Your grace is too much.

Will there ever be a day I find

Your grace is always enough?

Will I ever not doubt?

Will my doubts be confirmed?

Indeed, I know I am not worthy,

Even more, for I sometimes think Your Love

Is wasted upon my life.

I’ve been told You are infallible,

And, of course, I know it’s true.

I can’t help but wonder,

If no one else could put up with me,

With my sorrows, my mistakes, my faults and failures,

Then why would You?

This poem, this scribble, this empty-hearted song,

Means nothing, means everything.

It’s only a whine, a self-pitying ramble

That’s just begging for attention.

A need for love and consolation,

That the world can’t satisfy.

So again, I ask.

Again, I wonder.

Will I ever discover

This was Your plan for my find-and-rescue mission?

Am I ever to believe that if I am a mistake,

I am a beautiful one? 

My Story

I am saved from sin’s power,

I am being saved from sin’s persuasion,

I will be saved, one day, from sin’s presence.

Since the day I was born,

I was building up a castle.

The towers were high,

But the foundation was fragile.

Each uneven brick

Held together by earthly standards.

Worldly morals

Locked my heart from the solution

To all of my sorrows.

Consumed with myself,

Sin was my pride.

Yet brokenness replaced my name;

Guilt possessed my mind.

The key to freedom was all too familiar.

I wasn’t willing to change,

Too pleasantly lonely,

Comfortably bitter.

I kept ignoring the cross,

Tomorrow was the day I would open that gate.

But He helped me to realize

Tomorrow won’t always wait.

His light reached inside,

Through the walls of my crumbling fortress,

I finally understood only grace saves—

Nothing less.

I sometimes struggle to remember

Christ has love and interest for me,

But because of His love,

Heaven is someday where I will be.

My Song

A desperate cry before the Throne,

Regretting decisions

And the seeds I’ve sown.

If only to return to when I had time;

A ticking clock

Wasted in rhythm and rhyme.

If nothing else, I felt

Rage, guilt, and fear.

I had built my own cage.

Ages before, He was offered to me.

Stubborn and sinful,

I was too blind to see.

All this would’ve been the case,

But with blinding, beautiful mercy

He showed me His grace.