Why do we run until we collapse,
only to look in the mirror and tell ourselves we need to do it all again?

Why do we ace all the tests,
only to call ourselves stupid and put ourselves down?

Why do so many people call us beautiful,
but we can't help but compare ourselves to the magazines once again?

We are all Jars of Clay, sculpted by God's own hands. In our brokeness, the light shines through.