What are we to make of this inexplicable sponge soaking up our sin and pain
while simultaneously releasing everlasting freedom…
An unending, last-drop-of-the-ocean wheel turning eternally, reflecting us as one
in need, yet also one overflowing…
Such sweet and ripe grace injected into our spirits as each sand grain drops
through a perpetual hourglass…
With fragile hands, we openly receive this direct grace-hit into our marrow, bone
and blood, soul to sole…
This limitless sky of a gift, unboxed and untied, surrounds us like a cottony and
cumulus cloud, simply yet profoundly there as air
…there as air
Grace most certainly undeserved, much less in canyon-full, waterfall mode
pouring and drenching over and into us.
