My Lord, I don’t come to You clean. I don’t come with anything worthy in my hands. If anything, I come with the opposite— with things I’ve done, things I’ve said, things I’ve thought when no one was watching. I’ve known what was right and still chosen otherwise. Not once. Not by accident. But enough times to know it wasn’t ignorance—it was me. And still… I find myself here. Not because I deserve You, but because something in me cannot stay away from You. I don’t even know if what I feel is worthy to be called love. It’s not pure. It’s not steady. It falters, disappears, returns when I need You most. But it’s real. It’s there in the quiet moments when I realize I’ve gone too far again. In the weight that doesn’t leave until I look in Your direction. In the strange, undeserved peace that meets me even when I expect judgment. I don’t understand it. If I were You, I would have turned away from me long ago. But You didn’t. And that is what breaks me. Not fear. Not punishment. But mercy I cannot explain. So I won’t promise You perfection— I’ve already failed at that more times than I can count. But I can give You this: I will keep coming back. Even when I’m ashamed. Even when I feel unworthy. Even when I don’t have the right words. Because somewhere in all this failure, there is something in me that loves You— not as I should, but as I am. And maybe… maybe that’s where You meet me. Still Yours, even like this.CMM.