Sometimes the package is ugly
Sometimes I don’t like what I see–
I look at the gift and in pride I believe
This can’t be God’s best gift for me.
And yet He still offers it freely–
This good I regard with disdain;
For though it may bruise as it opens,
His face is made clear in the pain.
Love, wrapped all up in a manger,
Was the gift that would rescue my race;
Love, bloody, wounded, and dying,
Was the ugliest beautiful grace.
Oh, help me to see things as You do–
To trust in the grace hiding here,
To open my hands to Your goodness–
The plain brings the beautiful near.