Ragamuffin

Verse 1

I come with dirt on my knees,

Questions I still can’t defeat.

I didn’t conquer my shadows today,

I just showed up anyway.

This story wasn’t written by a spotless saint,

It was scratched out by a man who stayed.

Knew every demon by name and face,

Still held the cross like it was grace.

Pre-Chorus

I don’t stand here claiming I’m strong—

I stand here clinging, holding on.

Chorus

I’m a ragamuffin—

A beggar at the door of mercy.

No résumé, no earned reward,

Just desperate hope and open hands before Thee.

If grace is real, then let it fall,

Not on the polished, but the ones who crawl.

I’m a ragamuffin, nothing to prove—

Just leaning hard on the truth of You.

Verse 2

We get uneasy when pain won’t resolve,

When someone’s faith still limps and crawls.

Their wounds too fresh, their words too raw,

So we label them weak and move along.

But what if wrestling is holy ground?

What if truth still bleeds when it’s found?

What if the ones who haven’t “won”

Are preaching grace without a sermon?

Pre-Chorus

Maybe the gospel sounds most clear

From lips that tremble through the fear.

Chorus

I’m a ragamuffin—

A beggar at the door of mercy.

I didn’t clean myself to come inside,

I just collapsed into Your arms hurting.

Grace ain’t payment for getting it right,

It’s a gift for the ones who lost the fight.

I’m a ragamuffin, bruised but free—

Loved not despite my mess, but inside of it completely.

Bridge (build)

Some will walk in victory this side of heaven,

Some will limp with unanswered questions.

But redemption doesn’t clock out early,

Not in the economy of Christ’s mercy.

Don’t dismiss the broken or the cracked apart—

That’s where the light leaks through the heart.

Breakdown (half-spoken / whispered)

I don’t offer God my success…

I offer Him my need.

Final Chorus (Lift)

I’m a ragamuffin—

Still learning how to breathe in grace.

Still fighting doubts, still saying prayers

Through tears that haven’t found their place.

If the gospel’s good news for anyone,

It’s for the weak, the weary, the undone.

So I won’t hide my scars or flee—

They might be the clearest sermon someone needs from me.

Outro (quiet, resolute)

I’m not finished…

But I’m forgiven.

Still broken…

Still held.

I stand at the door of mercy—

And it’s wide open.