At my best, I was lost in sin; until Christ made me the righteousness of God
At my best, I was weak and feeble; until Christ demonstrated his power and might in me
So that when I am weak, then I am strong
At my best, I wallowed in abject poverty without salvation; until Christ became poor that I may be rich
At my best, my health was frail and I lived with a sin-sick-soul; until Christ bore in his body 39 cruel lashes just to make me whole
At my best, I was a fool who grabbed what I cannot keep; until Christ gave me what I cannot lose
At my best, I labored in vain to gain satisfaction; until Christ granted me rest from my labor
At my best, my knowledge and intelligence failed to answer basic questions about life;
Until Christ let me know the wages of sin is death but the free gift of God is eternal life
And at my best, I was worse; and at my worse I became the best in Christ
(~2012)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem