Yes, it’s true.
I can’t do anything right.
My talents seem to be
cleverly painted mistakes.
My rough edges are really
only broken pieces—
splinters of good intentions—
shards of hopeless attempts.
The phrase is a sin because it ended
three words early. Shall I finish it?
I can’t— but God can.
He takes the brush I used to paint flowers over my mistakes
and turns each one into some beautiful gift.
He planned a use for every broke piece,
To him, they are not the rubble left after my selfish endeavors;
they are pieces of a puzzle He is crafting and solving all at once.
But God can.