Because the cancer was in only one breast,
and even though the man won't come back
the hair will,
meanwhile wigs are nothing new
to me, praise Jesus.

I got away from Daddy.
And, praise Jesus,
my cancer got my 6-year-old
away from hers.
Jesus, you're the only man
who broke the cycle
of a father's rage.

My hands are high
and my closed eyes
show glory and forgiveness;
Thanksgiving hymns
spring from my lips,
oh Father,
but just between you and me,
I'm not convinced
you're any different.

So just in case, Lord,
I'm praisin' sweet Jesus
for the chance to wear pants,
my hair short,
and the new ways
you've shown me
to love another woman.