The Absolute Very Best that I Can

I'm tired of feeling sorry for myself. Pity has possessed me. It digs into my bones, my inner core. It pulls out every little tendency that reflects poor choice. Pity beats a man into submission. Twists his soul like a vicious tornado. God doesn't feel sorry for me. He only expects better. He expects fulfillment of potential. He demands that I do the absolute very best that I possibly can.