The space to be human shrinks— they spin and spin their threads of rule, stitching us into straight jackets, and if we move— even slightly— against superior judgment, the fury of the world falls— lightning and thunder, dogs barking at trespassers, madwomen screaming for heads on silver platters; they are human too but cannot believe … Continue reading The Lost Art of Grace
Good people know their place and would never touch me, much less look me in the eye, probably for fear of contamination. They speak mostly of me—not to me— and then, of course, only from a holy distance. I am a sinner. In averting their eyes, they never see me— never see my awkward hands, … Continue reading Friend of Sinners
Another dark day— the sky, a low, furrowed ceiling; the skeleton branches, dripping tears, and all the world, gray. ••• What have I done? Drained the azure from the sky? Stripped the trees of green? Forever blotted out the sun? ••• What a dismal, wretched place! And yet I sense You here— moving closer through … Continue reading On the Dark Days
It’s love— not a move in a game for a prize we claim. It’s love— always a gift of grace. .