audience of one

I wrote this poem on October 3rd as I was drowning in shame after a heavy confession the previous day. A good friend reminded me of the Gospel I had been preaching for 11 years (from a paid platform) and said, "you've been paid to preach the Gospel for 11 years and NOW is the time for that Gospel to become true in your own life. What Gospel do you really believe, Ryan?"

So I ask you: when the rug is pulled out from under you, what Gospel are you believing? When you hit rock bottom, what Gospel are you believing? When you feel alone and discarded, what Gospel are you believing? When your sin is staring you down, what Gospel do you believe?

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audience of one

Preaching grace

to those at rock bottom—

but I can't hear it.

Seeing those behind their trees—

but I won't step out from mine.

Offering compassion to the hurting—

but my wounds continue to bleed.

What is the Gospel

if it won't intersect

with my darkest hour?

What is grace

if it won't become reality

in my worst moment?

Who is Jesus

if not the One

who sits with me, too?

I am now my primary audience.

What Gospel am I proclaiming?