Common Grace

There is a fine line between prophetic initiation
and righteous indignation.  The first brings about
a flowering of possibility while the latter begins
with the assumption that what is right for one 
is right for all.  That path leads only to regret.
I once sat down upon a log to think of the moments
when I shared my thoughts and to feel the times
when I shared my feelings.  There was something there.
So often I have held a pen that is too short
to write upon the page before me.  Then, complaining
that life has somehow shorted the three of us,
me, myself and I, I have simply not said what needed
to be said for fear of appearing somehow inadequate.
Having more than one thing creates stress around
which one to use in one particular moment.  Call it,
a complication.  An anniversary passed not too long ago,
with all those fourteen-year old memories still ripening
in the present.  How I long to take a quiet stroll
around the neighborhood pushing a stroller holding
my sleeping child; to create a space for the possible 
in between what I long for and what calls
for my attention, hoping, common grace appears again.

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