I asked you to show me how to be vulnerable. I longed to have clenched and dry places eased open, released to be real and raw and that would be okay. Because I never want to be able to pre-empt the depth of outrageous Grace. I trust that it will always rise and always be enough. But this is uncomfortable. I will dig my heels in, and wait. 

It’s so much better here on the ground,

Where the morning light tastes like asphalt and swing set rust

                                                          – Mindy Nettifee


Because I know that each moment is a gift, even when it doesn’t feel that way.

Holy. Ordinary. Grace. 

From down here in the asphalt, the rusty squeak of the swing set echoes of the slipping away and shadows. Continues its tuneless dirge empty of apology and achingly oblivious to its ordinariness. It’s no new story.

But I long to say yes. I will wait to hear the grace interwoven with this tune until it is a metronome – a mere skeleton to the rich song of the Holy Fulfilling. 

Eucharisteo. And there it comes in the morning without fail. Chara…Joy.

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