There I am, each Sunday morning,

underwired and high-healed hurting,

and it doesn’t matter to God a bit, at all.

just don’t flop, just don’t fall,

Don’t be human.

Don’t be small.

Don’t notice the whispers

that don’t whisper at all

about how short I’ll always be.

Never big enough for their decree–

But theirs ain’t the approval

that matters to me.

and for goodness sake,

don’t eat eggs in the morning

‘cause when you kneel for forgiveness,

then without warning,

your ‘silent prayer’ echoes

up to the rafters

And if you can’t laugh now,

they’ll all laugh after.

But God has heard it all.

Seen it too.

When you step from the shower,

He’s there with you.

Standard issue.

Standard parts.

All the same, down to burps and farts.

Don’t be so shocked.

God formed them all.

Views every soul naked—

dirty or clean.

There isn’t a bit

He hasn’t seen.

We fall face down

before God’s glory

so don’t bother repeatin’

my tired old story

that’s worse than yours,

with all my old behavior–

Ain’t none of us perfect;

that’s why there’s a Savior!