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By Geneva Poynter
Other Poems by Geneva Poynter


Is my life’s house messy with hidden excuses,
Good deeds atop mantels of false security,
My house in disarray with what life produces,
Failing now, in Christ, to come to maturity?

Can I hope for other than a mess or wreckage?
My own hard efforts to clean my house are futile.
My broken and contrite heart can stop the carnage
When I come to Him, openly, with strength fragile.

Confession gives me the clearest view of His Cross,
The weight of my mask and extent of my messes.
Then God shows me the only One  to take my loss.
He bore my transgressions, my sin, my excesses.

God’s arm extends beyond anything imagined,
And is never too short to save from destruction
One who comes to Him, to all else is abandoned.
His mercy, guidance and strength are never outdone. 



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Submitted: Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Last Updated: Thursday, December 4, 2014

About the Poet
I asked Jesus to be my Savior when I was 11 - that was almost 70 years ago as of June 2015. My husband and I had been married for 54 years as of March 2010 before he went Home to Heaven, and we have one son & daughter in law and 3 grandchildren.

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