I saw my face reflected there

I cowered in the mirror's stare

I shook my head, sighed in despair,

I am not a lady.

 

For though I dress in skirts and gowns,

My selfishness, it knows no bounds,

Materialistic want abounds, and

I am not a lady.

I saw my slouching posture clear,

My bitten nails, my unkempt hair

And truly I began to fear

I am not a lady.

 

I saw the throat I used to yell

The lips from which profane words fell

And all the signs I saw did tell

I am not a lady.

 

And seeing this, I stooped to weep

For what strong, worthy man would keep

A wife whose darkness ran so deep? No,

I am not a lady.

 

What father glories in a child

Whose jaw is hard, whose ways are wild,

Who has the Word rebuked, reviled? No,

I am not a lady.

 

And when I from my tear-streaked face

Looked up, I gasped. Before my place,

The Lord, here in my private space,

said, "Yes, you are a lady!"

 

In disbelief I stood and cried,

"Lord, then has my reflection lied?

No jewel, veil, or rouge can hide

That I am not a lady."

 

He bid that I no longer stand

But kneel, placed my face in His hand,

Said, "Dearest, don't you understand

How you become a lady?

 

"You cannot do so on your own,

Every great lady past has known

That goodness stems from Me alone.

I make you a lady."

 

I washed my face and dried my eyes,

And evermore I ceased the cries

Fed by the world's unholy lies

That I can't be a lady.

 

And confident, I hold His hand,

And now we must, I understand,

Together work the task at hand:

Making me a lady.