You see me.
Not just the parts the world wants to see,
but all of me—
the way my body moves, or doesn’t.
The way my mind races, or slows down.
The way I navigate a world
that wasn’t built with me in mind.
And still, You call me beloved.
Still, You say I am known.
You have searched me, God—
not to judge, not to fix,
but to love,
to hold,
to celebrate.
Where can I go that You aren’t already there?
If my body aches with pain,
if my mind battles itself,
if the world stares,
if the system forgets me,
if even I struggle to believe I am enough—
You are there.
Steady as breath, constant as love.
The world tries to tell me what I lack.
Labels me broken.
Calls me burden.
Whispers that I should be different.
But You—
You whisper a different truth:
“I knit you together in your mother’s womb.”
“You are fearfully and wonderfully made.”
Not an afterthought.
Not a mistake.
Not an accident to be pitied,
but a masterpiece to be honored.
I am made with intention.
Not despite my disability, but with it.
Not in spite of my mind, but through it.
I am shaped by divine hands,
crafted in love,
woven with worth.
So I will praise You, not just with my voice,
but with my whole being—
with the way I show up,
the way I move through this world,
the way I love in ways only I can.
I am here. I am seen.
I am made by hands of love.
And that is enough.
