Another name

Let me see sin through His eyes, let it horrify me, sicken me, make me weep.

Another name

She held the fire to her chest.

Folding it within her clothes,

but every so often

blowing in air,

keeping it alive.




When I say . . .

"It’s just who I am",

"I was provoked",

"I’m getting it off my chest",

"I’m just frustrated",


Does it justify me?


When did God

stop asking me to be holy,

or make my holiness


on someone else’s?

When did Christ’s example in life

stop being my standard?

Or His death and resurrection

stop freeing me from the power of sin?

When did the Holy Spirit stop


bringing conviction,

giving grace sufficient,

meeting me in my need?


When is sin not sin?

When other people are doing it?

When did righteousness become

something distasteful,



When was good renamed evil?

And evil, good?


Let me see sin through His eyes,

let it horrify me,

sicken me,

make me weep.

Let me see its consequences in me:

always a hardening of heart,

a growing coldness,

a sliding away,

an avoidance of others,

a preoccupation with self,

a lack of love for Him.


Let me call sin what God calls it.

Let me use biblical words,

and respond in biblical ways.


Let me be broken,



Let me confess

with tears of grief

and mourning heart

to Him,

and to others,

who I really am.


Let me name the sin and go to the Fountain for help,

so that by

striving and praying,

repenting and confessing,

forsaking and replacing,

I might douse the fire

with the water of the Word

and be changed

a little more

into His likeness.




The fire was eating through the fabric,

crackling as it singed.

Soon it would bite and scorch her skin,

but she called it another name

and therefore,

she reasoned,

it wouldn’t hurt her.


Image credit: Olayinka Babalola