Oh, Preacher Man,
sweeping across the dais
with your billowing black robe.
You tell me of a hell
awaiting me
for lack of response
to “Just As I Am”.
My God,
who made me
“just as I am”,
he, who thought me
and I was;
he, who loved me
from my Mother’s womb;
he, who loved you; made you
just as you are,
did he say this?
How did you become
my pathway to salvation,
you, who were thought to be and was,
just like me?
Oh, Preacher Man, tell me, how?
-Joy S. Barefoot
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