Isn't it Ironic?

Am I the only one afraid that when my time has come, and I arrive at the gate, I will jump for joy as Jesus stands perplexed and confused. "Who are you?" He will ask. "You don't know me? I know you," I reply. What if I'm not let in as Jesus tells me to depart from him. My heart would call out "why". I replay a montage of all my wrong as I start to cry. "You must've known a version of me, made up in your head," He says. Is this what I've done? Made the very one who has gotten me out of bed? When I read the Bible, do I do it to learn more about Him or me? Explaining my problems is for nothing when there is no changing. When I worship, do I do it to feel chills or to praise? For if chills is what I seek, one could just go to a rave. When I pray, do I do it to feel heard or to listen? Sometimes I feel like a fraud. Have I made an infinite creator into something I can fit into my pocket? Has my wrestling with doubt been too much about the origin of God and not enough about my own salvation? Isn't it ironic, I question God's existence, but never the devil and his presence? God, I do not know how to love you without feeling guilty. For me, is heaven just an escape from hell? All the shame leads me to attempt to take the nails from your hands, and sink them into my skin. Feel the shame I rightly earned, making a saviour out of myself, drowning in all of my sin. God, you are no longer on a cross, so why do I go there? Remind me that David ended the life of an innocent man and committed adultery, yet you called him a man after your own heart. So why from you do I run so far? Then I hear a whisper, "My beloved, This anxiety is not from me." I didn't even ask who it was, for I remember the scriptures; "My sheep know my voice." And I fall into peace again after hearing His whisper. How selfish of me to think I'm above your promises and your grace. You say that I'm fearfully and wonderfully made, a child you have sought to save. Of course you will recognise this face.