Shelby Fletcher

On cushioned knees we plead for forgiveness, 

until our minds wander away and we scold ourselves, 

only to ask for forgiveness once again. 

Be mindful the Father says, 

pray well and He will bless; 

pass around the basket and donate no less. 

We slip in our envelopes and maybe a prayer, 

an offering as a favor. 

Notice me, Heaven, and save me a place—  

this was never we, but me, confessing; 

I fear I’ll never feel Your embrace. 

If I do not do well.