The song below, Superhuman by Andy Mineo… I’m really amazed by how much Christian rap has been ministering to my soul. I recognize that lately I’ve really been wanting to listen to really upbeat and catchy songs, and there’s only so much secular music I can listen to until my soul and thoughts just feel gross and in need of some cleansing from Jesus and the Holy Spirit.

Basically everything below is stuff I’ve been thinking and feeling lately. Except of course, I’m not a man.

Why is it every time I step up on a train,
I see a pretty dame and I wonder what her name is,
for’ I even get there the question on my brain is,
Do you love the Lord, do you live to make Him famous?
Then the cart stop, she step off, it’s time to refocus,
I’m questioning my heart, examining my motives,
why I’m captivated by the brown skin mocha divas,
and I hope in my mind she’s a believer.
Okay, she got all that beauty yea it’s obvious,
I can’t let it take precedence over Godliness,
now I’m getting restless,
how I’m recognizing when I’m choosing to take pleasure in all these false treasures,
they fool’s gold,
instead of looking for them sundresses,
I should be looking for the Son I confess it,
even though my pride’s telling me don’t let the fans know,
I am not a superhuman though,
I am a man,
so the grace that I talk about on all my records,
I need it for myself, cause really I’m just a mess,
finding rest from the pressures of perfection,
as I stand up on this platform they expectin’,
me to be a man without flaws, that’s false,
I am just another rapper that’s called to point ya’ll to the cross,
and that’s exactly where I’m headed,
I’m just another beggar pointin’ ya’ll to where the bread is,

I’m not a superhuman
I am just a man,
No, I’m not a superhuman,
I am just a man,
I’m not a superhuman,
I am just a man, but they never understand,

I’m nothing more than a man lost, dead in my sin,
So here I am alive in Your hands,
Your hands, Your hands

We dress up in nice heels, we try to make people buy’em,
that’s why when someone ask how we doin’, we tell’em fine,
knowing we hurt inside, but tell me who’s really lyin’,
they ain’t really wanna know how you doin’, that cost time,
that’s way too expensive,
and if I ever get a date with a dime I’m sending my representative,
the version of Andy that’s cropped and edited,
I’m killin’ this first impression, and I’m hidin’ the evidence,
Yea, photoshoppin’ the blemishes,
these lies of perfection are the cry of the desperate,
men that want that acceptance,
holdin’ they breath, dyin’ a thousand deaths,
forgettin’ there’s beauty inside the mess,
what else could you expect? we obsessed over twitter numbers,
checkin’ ours, then comparing them to others, like,
the number of likes upon a status is somehow suppose to raise our status,
boy, this is madness,
we want the trophy wife who’s the baddest and not some average,
so we can feel like the man, Randy Savage,
take me off the shelf, I don’t wanna be for retail,
I would rather be real, let you see the details,
when we fell, it feels like we fall so far cause they put us so high,
I am not a star,
I’m just a product of grace that’s still in the process,
and I don’t gotta be great, because my God is,

and I don’t gotta be great, because my God is,
I’m just a product of grace and guess what?
I’m still in the process, there’s unfinished business.


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