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.
Through the Fog 