Coming to the End of Me


Coming to the end of me,

All the pages read;

Nearing the day I can lay it all down

And be only Your book instead.

Coming to the end of me.

Who knew it would be so hard;

That who I am was so deeply ingrained

And how badly I'd need to be jarred.

I look at You, Jesus--so perfect, so pure;

You're all I could ever admire.

You say I can be like You

And that's what I deeply desire.

But coming to the end of me

Turns out costing much more than I thought.

So often I sit here and moan and complain,

When You're only doing Your part

In bringing me to the end of me;

I still ask You to press on.

I can't stay the same and still bear Your name,

Or sing Your new song in my heart.