Lord, about the foster home....

O Lord,
let me stay with the pariahs, please.

They are more kind, and more gentle.
They know Who has saved them
and from where their help comes.

I can't pretend I've been perfect all the time.
When I'm with the respectable people
I'm expected to pretend,
and I just can't anymore.

With the pariahs I don't have to pretend.
I can say, right out loud,
I hurt. I need help.
I've done wrong. I made a mistake.
I am weak and clumsy.
I can't do that by myself anymore.
And they put out their hands,
and they do not laugh and point.
They welcome and they do not ridicule,
they do not add shaming to shame.

They know Who has saved them
and from where their help comes.

Please don't make me go back to the respectable people.
I can't do proper and respectable any more.
I know I've been lost, and stuck, and fallen down.
I know Who has saved me.
I know from where comes my help.

Let me stay with the ones who know and love you, Lord.
Let me stay with the pariahs, please.
I want to know and love you, as do they.
.