I am the onion
I hold in my hand.
It’s taken me so long
To just understand
How tired and worn
Is this husk that I wear
Though I fear its removal
May be too much to bear.

I peel back a layer,
As thin as a thread.
The first one of many
That I’ve grown to dread.
My makeup is gone now,
My ‘stylish’ clothes, too.
And some friends are leaving…
But please, God, not you!

I look at the onion
That I know is me
As you can imagine,
I don’t like what I see.
The underneath layer
Is just like before
Though a little bit cleaner,
And a little more pure.

It pains me to peel back
The next ring of deceit.
It’s my reputation
I’ve so tried to keep.
So now I’m an outcast,
To all but my Lord,
And more people leave me;
I knew that was in store.

So now I’m authentic.
Wait, no, not just yet.
I’m still soaked in pride,
And in my sinner’s debt.
I try to peel back
At my layer of pride,
But I’ve reached my core sin,
And it kills me inside.

I’ve been proud of possessions,
Positions, and lies.
I’ve grown on a diet
Of thinking I’m wise.
I’ve seen how deep pride runs,
Right down to the core.
And I hold in the anguish;
I can peel back no more.

This onion that’s me
Has revealed what I am:
A creature that’s proud, and indulgent, and damned.
I’ve cut to the center
Of my selfish pride…
And I cry,
and I cry,
and I cry,
and I cry…

…

Lord, now it’s just You,
Alone here with me.
The others have seen
What I truly can be.
They want nothing to do
With this princess of sin.
And I hate myself likewise,
So I can’t blame them.

Why couldn’t you just have
Reminded me, Lord?
That some day I’d have to
Face my every word.
That I’d one day be kneeling
At your holy feet,
Just realizing then
That you weren’t proud of me.

It seems that you’ve just
Stayed up there on your cloud.
Whispering convictions
But not yelling loud.
That you’ve just let me fall
On my gullible face,
Without trying to help me
Or clear my disgrace.

Christ, what have I done?
And what can I do?
I’ve nothing left on me
To give up for You.
You’ve stripped me of money,
Of power and friends,
And finally pride;
I have come to my end.

And in reaching the end
Of this sinner You see,
Does that mean that now
You can take all of me
And rebuild me, remake me,
Remind me at last,
That the thing that must go
Is my sin-riddled past.

Dear Lord, help me please you,
Just show me the way.
For you are the potter,
And I just the clay.
Shape me, my Lord,
Into something brand new.
Into someone that I know
You’ll be proud of, too.