It's amazing how quickly anger can take root in my heart.
It's easy for me to see faults. So easy, to see those specks festering in their eyes.
When a tree stump is in mine.
The splinters poke as I look to the left,
and they remind me of my sins.
And I learn to bury them fast. Develop callouses before I feel any more of the Spirit's conviction.
His rod feels like fire.
Painful to my flesh.
Searing.
And all I want is for the pain to stop.
So I shun his discipline, stuff cotton in my ears,
sing ho hum.
And let only condemnation and judgement flow red in my blood,
though so much timber is in my eyes.
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