“You have nothing in and of yourself. You and I are made of clay and spit. Any holiness of ours is polluted beyond our petty comprehension. I have nothing to offer Him but a bent neck, a neck He helped me bend. I have nothing to offer Him but filth, and He has taken it. He exchanged it for blood like wine, and His own body broken like bread.”
-N.D. Wilson, Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl (Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson, 2009), 178.
