They say He qualifies the called, never calling the qualified.
Still, she deeply desires Jesus, feeling like nothing more than a Mary Magdalene clinging to His feet.
Her mind is set on holiness,
yet her heart is a tangled mess.
Still, He thinks she's just enough in His eyes.

The self-righteous wear crowns they made from the bones of the crucified,
and power on their shoulders like fur coats.
Yet, the outcast, the unwanted, and the despised in the religious eye
often find their names written in the Hall of Right-standing.
She is no different—another story in the pages of unadulterated faith.
O how He takes the foolish things of this world to confound the wise.

Her eyes are lined with the blackest lashes like velvet,
and her bubblegum lips are seasoned with peace.
The bodice of her midnight dress is girded with a heart that still beats.
And though her nails are black like the world around her,
her hands remain unstained by its darkness.
The only blood you'll find is hers.

This barefoot Cinderella has her feet firmly planted on His solid rock,
unmoved by the evil one who sells nothing more than a bill of goods with no follow through.
Her glow is as youthful as the moon and her soul radiates like the sun.
For a saint is not someone who is perfect—yet people often misuse this term.
O, when will they finally come to know
that the mere meaning of a saint is simply a child of God adopted by the Blood,
and not a glorified icon to be worshipped?
So, yes, a saint is she—a troubled girl with a halo holding onto hope like a silver locket.