How bold we are to take up the pen with our pair of filthy hands, writing love poems and letters to Him.
The love that flows out from our filthy heart is not even worth giving.
How bold we are to lift our voices with our dirty lips, singing love songs and praises to Him.
The voice that flows out from our mouth is not even worth listening to.
I suspect that the angels can write much better poems to Him.
I suspect that the angels can sing much sweeter than the best singer we have.
But it is our poems and letters He wanted to read, no matter how badly it is written, no matter how insincere and hypocritical we feel writing it.
And it is also our voices that He wanted to hear, no matter how croaked it is, no matter how bad we are at singing.
Write now to your heart's content, for you have no reason to anymore when you're in heaven.
Sing now to Him to your heart's content, for your voices would not be heard being in the midst of an ever-singing multitude in heaven.
O praise Him, my heart, and bless the Lord my Beloved!
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