Holy How can it be that someone like me is special? How can I, so small, so weak ever live, ever speak of things worthwhile? How can it be that I have wisdom? Why do I deserve my Father's kingdom? Why am I considered higher than angels when I am me? Never knowing of things I should yet I'm glowing. God has laid His hand on me but for what reason I can't yet see. I don't deserve a thing I get, and yet... God thinks so. I'm not stupid, how can I be? When in His image, God made me? I'm not perfect, how can I be? When as a man, God made me. I have beauty some unseen. I have beauty inside of me. How can it be... When I feel like the scum of the earth, and satan's squishing me down. When I feel like there's no way out of my own self-doubt... I can only stop and know. That God made me. God knit me in the womb, gave me a heart and home, and though I'm not the best I'm as great as all the rest. Because the only one who knows every time I blow my nose, never makes mistakes. And in His image He made me. No matter what satan says, I'll always do my best. I am filled with holiness.

Because He made me.