Bursting With Grace

It’s not that I am the holiest,

Or the most pure,

But there is goodness in me,

The Goodness which God placed lovingly.


And this love,

Now, deep in my heart and blood,

Cannot be contained,

By others, or myself.


Limiting love is not possible,

For it forces its way out,

Onto those who need it,

Regardless, it blows past consciousness,

Desires, or even my own selfishness.


Yet, here, today, I find myself,

A songbird without a garden,

A shepherd in name only,

A bee without petals.

Where all I can do is watch,

And say no, again, and again.

That I may not help,

I cannot comfort you,

And sit invisibly at the cross with another crucified,

Yet, unable to be present, in the usual way.

Take this cup from me,

So I may sing again,

Touch again,

Mourn again,

Pray again,

Not like a keener,

But as you, with you, in you.


And I find the gift in this separation,

As my body and soul burst with this withheld grace.

Like never before.

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