Him. Not I.

I am not worthy. I should not be allowed to hold it close or draw comfort from its words. I am not worthy to flip its pages or shift the ribbon from place to place. The broken leather spine should crumble to my touch. These wayward hands are not worthy to smooth its corners. I, the failed ambassador, bring dishonor to its message, invalidity to its purpose, weakness to its strength. I have missed the mark, thus how could I possibly teach others to aim? I am not worthy. I, the creature of the light whom dwells within the darkness, how could I carry the message? Because I am already where it needs to be spoken. Those who too are unworthy are all around me, yet they long to hear. Who am I to tell them? ...Who am I to deprive them? So they draw near for hope, I will open my mouth and let the Lord speak. 

He is worthy, not I. Not I.