I never thought I could be washed white as snow.

Snow is pretty white after all, and I feel pretty grey.

This life has thrown its share of dust and mud in my face,

And yet here I stand, polished up without spot or wrinkle,

How can this be?

A bride you say, in this dustbowl of life,

The one lifted out of the miry clay

The one washed and cleansed from darkness, shame

from the muck and the more that clouded my soul

Yet as I beheld his beautiful name, his light, and his love I walked out of that shame

I called to him in my hurt and pain,

And he answered back with these simple words.

Follow me. So I did.