My hand, my foot, my eye;
yes, from time to time
and on occasions, each of these
causes me to stumble.
Other parts too, including some
which my innate sense of decorum
precludes me mentioning.
My brain is the worst,
harbouring, as it does,
my quest for comfort,
my desire for a quiet life,
and those thoughts
which might properly be described
as lustful.
Shall I cut them off, or tear them out,
as the gospel writers suggest?
But I no longer believe in hell,
and my brain might be considered
a somewhat essential organ;
and it appears that my selfish desires
are as much a part of my core being
as any proclivities towards goodness,
love and generosity.
This latter group of worthy aspects
are, I like to think, fruits
of a discipleship choice I have made
to follow one who is truth.
These qualities I try to cultivate;
the others, I strive to keep in check.
Everything else is grace.
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