Grace – A Thread You Follow

Door

Open the door 
to your own room
and invite in the child 
that sits outside
to the celebration 
of your party.

Grace and Healing

I once asked of the wind
as it moved the leaves of the tree,
Who makes these changes?

Receiving no reply, at least
not one I could understand,
I turned to the chair in the courtyard.

I heard, Only the devout sit here.
Surely they are the only ones to know
that grace came to forgive.

And then, from everywhere,
grace upon grace,
to forgive again,
and to be healed, again.

Sometimes

Sometimes I come back from the place
where apologies and forgiveness
do not attend to each other
laying the bought bundles of dreams
down next to the stones thrown
into the lives of children separated
from all sense of fairness in humanity
where tragedies ripple forever
across time and space tripping
all notions of common sense
remaining for any gathering of grace.

And there I find outside all the realms
of logic created by reasoned patterns
for the comfort of those who believe
the improbable place where
sometimes things just happen.

Grace Haiku

Grace enters slowly
in between the world's noise
from under the trash.

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.