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.

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