There at rock bottom
Curled into a ball of loneliness
I shivered with shame.
Some condemned me,
While others spoke comfort
Still, I found no peace.
Then a small ray of hope
Shines through the cobwebs of guilt,
I remember the woman of Luke seven.
Knowing her guilt she weeps
Washing His feet with her tears,
Drying them with her hair.
I cannot anoint or kiss His feet as she
But I weep all the same
Knowing His blood was shed for even me.
At rock bottom I leave my guilt.
Looking up, I begin to climb once more
Clinging to the solid rock.