I've heard it said that if you want to build a tower you should first sit down and figure out the cost
Well, maybe it's my impulsive nature
Or maybe it's this impulsive culture
Or maybe it's something common to all of us -
Like the fingerprint of our maker was distorted by our collective failure to make the mark
So now the soil of our hearts can do little more than allow it's eager trusted seed to perish -
But I've never been much good at budgeting

And I am brilliant at running into things unprepared

So I've inherited a foundation laid down by a skilled master builder
And what a privilege that is
But I've done my best to shirk that project since the day that it began
And even on my best days I’m still not giving all I can
And lately I've been sleeping on the job
So I think it's safe to say that right about now my workmanship could perhaps best be described as a fire hazard

And when I look at what I’ve done with what you’ve given me
My God, it should sicken me
It should frighten me
It should compel me to change
But the truth is I’m comfortable with where I’m at
And if I don’t have to think about it too much, well, sign me up for that
And I’ll keep reaching one hand out to the sun
but with the other keep planting seeds of doubt
and allowing the weeds that sprout to grow and strangle me

God, as you knit me together in my mother’s womb
Were you writing today in your book
And was that chapter titled “Joel fucks up”?
Or was that just assumed knowledge by that point
Because for me it is
And honestly I don’t know anymore

And so like arrogant clay interrogating the potter that shaped it
I know I’ve no right to ask why you made me like this
But really
why did you make me like this?
Why the hell would you make anyone like this?
I don’t understand! I don’t understand! God I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I still don’t understand!


God!
If I were you
I would have made a better vessel

See, I thought you crafted me to bear your image
But this spitting image has mingled with the crowd of mockers spitting on Your Image
Long enough that I’m not sure if I can still see you there
or if that’s my own face looking back at me
reflected in the residue of my contempt
And I’ve been carrying around death inside my body
but there is nothing holy about the bones within this fleshy whitewashed tomb
So if by chance a sign of life is seen
well, that must really be a miracle
because it’s surely not from me
and I have done nothing whatsoever to merit it
But my God, your ability to work in spite of me
well, it sure does comfort me
and so I’ve learned to abuse your grace in order to justify my apathy


God -
If I were you
I would have built a better temple

Because this house of praise is starting to look more like a robber’s den
and the thieves you drove out have started to creep back in again
and they’re setting up their tables -
They’re setting up their tables in the courtyard where Your worship should have been
And the proud edifice displayed to the world
serves only to mask depravity untold
carried out in the place you called -
Holy.

For there is not one sacred chamber in its heart that has not been defiled
that has not been filled with desire for those things which have no place within its walls
There is no unclean thing that has not been offered on its altar
whose blood has not been allowed to mingle with your sacrifices
and whose meat has not been divided among the priests
of whichever idol now usurps your place
God, they have set up abominations in your sanctuary
and I have worshipped them willingly
And I’m afraid that before long all my stones will be thrown down
and I will become a ruined heap
God -
If I were you
I would have adopted a better son

Because I have dealt shamefully with your daughters -

And oh, I’ve tried - I swear I’ve tried to be strong, like Timothy
but the spirit of Amnon keeps writhing within me
So I remind myself to treat my sister with purity
all the while imagining all the twisted things she could do to me
And if my father won’t take his just vengeance
then send me a brother to put me out of my misery
Because I have the audacity to look down on the misdeeds of another
(that only grace and circumstance prevent me from sharing in)
And then to shut my eyes so tightly to my own sin
that I stumble blindly into it again
and again
promising each time will be the last, and turning away
Only to come full circle by the end of the day
But it’s easier to cope if then You’re the one blamed
not the bastard too fearful to enter life maimed



God -
If I were you
I would have made a better vessel
I would have built a better temple
I would have adopted a better son

But you chose me

and you must have had a reason

So crush the rejoicing from my bones
press them until repentance flows anew from wounds once dry and clotted
Break my heart and shatter my spirit
and reconstruct the pieces into something that pleases you
Mould this clay into an honourable work
Purge these weathered walls of any evil that still lurks
God, discipline the one you love
that I might make your mercies known