"Count yourself lucky, how happy you must be— you get a fresh start,
your slate's wiped clean.
Count yourself lucky—
God holds nothing against you
and you're holding nothing back from him.
When I kept it all inside,
my bones turned to powder,
my words became daylong groans.
The pressure never let up;
all the juices of my life dried up.
Then I let it all out;
I said, "I'll make a clean breast of my failures to God."
Suddenly the pressure was gone—
my guilt dissolved,
my sin disappeared.
These things add up. Every one of us needs to pray;
when all hell breaks loose and the dam bursts
we'll be on high ground, untouched.
God is my island hideaway,
keeps danger far from the shore,
throws garlands of hosannas around my neck."