Justified

Heaven's hosts gather 'round as you anoint my head. The oil runs down my neck and back. My shoulders feel also the nectar ride in.

You lay upon me robes of white, inlaid with gold stitching. "This will do," I hear you say.

The cold melts away under the garments.

"Should I even be wearing these?"

I see gladness in your eyes.

"I'm not pleased with you because of what you have done, but because you are mine."

Justified. You have declared me justified.