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.