I praise and adore you, God. You are perfect and are willing to see me as perfect even when I am not. I try to be like you but fail in some way every day. You love me in my imperfection. Your love wins over Satan’s hatred. Your forgiveness wins over Satan’s accusations. Your mercy wins over Satan’s judgmentalisms. I often wonder how you can do it ~ always be forgiving me. Sometimes I am embarrassed to, once again, ask for your forgiveness. Yet, you are delighted to forgive. You are the God of second chances. And third. And scores. And hundreds. Such patience and love I cannot even begin to comprehend. So, I worship you.
It is Sunday morning again. Oh, how I will sing out my praises to you! They will soar through the roof to the clouds and beyond, echo from star to star, and surround your throne. My song will not be harmonious and lovely or lyrical, but it will be my song and it will be for the God I love. Accept my praise, my song, the offering of my lips.
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