As If
I’m like the clay calling the potter to account,
Sad ’cause I’m filled but not the same amount.
I’m like the envious pot talking back
Upset with the kettle’s shade of black.
I’m like the hammer that drives a wedge,
A little depressed for not being a sledge.
Some gifts seem the same but not the degree.
Some days I’m not satisfied with me.
As if I could choose, as if I could talk,
As if I could run before I walk.
As if I could draft a much better plan,
As if I were God and not a man.
I’m like the smoke before the fire,
Predictable as my lingering unquenched desire;
But if out of my sight it’s out of my head.
Wasn’t I supposed to be where he is instead?
As if I could choose, as if I could talk,
As if I could run before I walk.
As if I could draft a much better plan,
As if I were God and not a man.
And as if in my offerings I could take Your place.
Who am I but a fool who could be discontent with Your grace?
As if my life were my own, I act,
But still You’re taking me back
As if I were Your only son.
Still it makes no sense after all these years.
I’m no closer but the dream is still clear.
It’s like a burning I’ve never known,
Like swimming in the ice to quench the fire deep in my bones.
As if I could choose, as if I could talk,
As if I could run before I walk.
As if I could draft a much better plan,
As if I were God and not a man.
And as if in my offerings I could take Your place.
Who am I but a fool who could be discontent with Your grace?
As if my life were my own, I act,
But still You’re taking me back
As if I were Your only son.
Words and Music by Bill Stutzman
Copyright 2006 Bill Stutzman/Songsmith Stutzman Music