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"I made my bed in hell... and He came for me."

This spoken word piece is for the wanderers, the wrecked, the ones who believe they’ve gone too far. It’s for those who thought grace had a limit — and then heard a whisper in the dark: “Call Me.”

If you’ve ever doubted your worth, battled addiction, drowned in shame, or felt far from God — this is your echo.

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Keywords: spoken word Christian, I made my bed in hell poem, God’s relentless pursuit, faith spoken word, Jesus rescue story, grace over shame, addiction recovery Christian, Christian poetry YouTube, raw testimony spoken word, God meets you in darkness

TRANSCRIPT (SPOKEN WORDS)

Are you here?

That question slipped through clenched teeth,

Whispered under the weight of my own breath,

A breath held hostage by shame, regret, and wreckage.

I made my bed in hell.

Not a metaphor. Not a myth.

No, I made it.

Stone by stone, needle by needle, night by godless night.

Sheets wrinkled with regret,

Pillows soaked with silent screams,

And behold—

He was there.

Not with a whip or a finger to shame,

But with outstretched arms. Arms that looked like mercy.

I didn’t fall into sin; I dug into it.

Shovel in hand, digging graves with my decisions.

I dug my pit with delight,

With laughs soaked in liquor,

With pride masked as freedom,

With rebellion that looked like independence.

Thought I was crafting liberation, but I was sculpting a tomb.

and I made peace with pain

Because pain was predictable.

I kissed the bottle and called it God.

Slept with shadows and named them comfort.

I cussed out heaven and dared lightning to answer.

Lit every bridge God tried to cross to get to me.

And still— On days when living became too hard, I asked

Are You here?

The haters told me, “He won’t come here.”

But He did.

He stepped through fire and shame,

Through every lie I made my truth,

Through every bottle I called my blanket,

Through every night I said, “Leave me be.”

And still... He came.

I ran to the uttermost parts of the sea,

Chasing escape like a religion.

Not to swim but to sink,

Not to float but to forget.

The tide became my keeper,

The waves wrote my name in sorrow.

But even there—He found me.

His eyes didn’t scan for saints.

They searched the waterlogged wreckage,

Looking for one gasping soul

Too tired to fight,

Too numb to scream,

Too lost to believe.

The darkness wasn’t passive,

It was fiercely cruel.

Wrapped around me like chains,

Called me names I answered to:

Failure. Fake. Filth. Forsaken.

And I wore them like they fit.

But still—He stayed.

Not pacing heaven’s floor,

Not wringing divine hands in dismay.

He stayed.

Right at the edge of my whisper,

Ready to scoop me up...

At my word.

Signed my name on contracts I never read,

Trading my worth for moments that never lasted.

I wore shame like skin.

Bathed in guilt until I forgot my god-given name.

I swam in depths where even memory forgot me,

Yet—His eyes were still fixed.

Like He marked me in my mother’s womb.

Like He tattooed grace on my back when I wasn’t looking.

Like He never looked away. Not even for a second

but still, Darkness isn’t just absence of light. It’s a presence. A weight.

It’s a voice that mocks, “You? You think God would come for you?”

And I believed it.

I preached sermons to myself about why I wasn’t worth rescuing.

Held alter calls in my mind where I never answered.

But still—

He stayed, unshaken.

Unchanged by the smell of smoke on me,

Unbothered by the stains of secrets I wore...

Music: "Dark Water" by Kevin MacLeod (https://incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/