God, Why Do You Love Me?

God, why do You love me

when I keep forgetting

how to love myself?

When I bargain with faith

and doubt You on the hard days,

when my prayers sound more like exhaustion

than praise.

Why do You stay

when I run,

when I close my fists around pain

and call it protection?

You’ve seen the mess.

The anger.

The nights I questioned

whether breathing was enough.

Still—

You never looked away.

You loved me before I learned

how to be gentle.

Before I knew how to stay.

Before I believed I was worth

the patience You give so freely.

Maybe You love me

because You see what I can’t—

the becoming.

The quiet strength.

The heart that keeps choosing

to wake up.

God, I don’t understand

a love that doesn’t flinch,

doesn’t keep score,

doesn’t leave when I’m heavy.

But if this is grace—

then let me rest in it.

Let me believe

that even broken things

are held.