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I tried Lord. I tried Lord. I tried hard to be a good little boy [girl]. Chin up, head high, all zeal but no joy. Thinking all my good deeds could please Jesus, boy, was I wrong! Though I knew the right songs, all my symbols and gongs played the melodies wrong. And it wasn’t long til I saw my disease, a life spent wanting to please on hands and knees to make right, to appease. God, help me please, this can’t be Christianity, it can’t be. The whole thing is like insanity. Where’s the rest of eternal security? Where’s the hope of a God big enough to cope with all my hang ups and insecurities. Certainly, this isn’t breathing. My chest burning and heaving, it’s like my pulse is ceasing, like my heart quits beating… Yet this, I recall to mind, and therefore I have hope…you died Lord, you died Lord. Assuredly, like the coming of the dawn, the Father’s love song goes on, drowning out my bitter songs and breaking through walls and barriers. Christ swoops in, removes sin, picks up His bride and carries her. So I can sing, in agreement with the King, this thing: there’s only one thing that pleases the Father, the God man on the tree in the midst of the scoffers. Now I finally see that Christ is what Christ offers. And i’m finally free, in the love of a Father!
