I have no eloquent words today. Many days.
My Enemy screams "Hypocrite!" and my heart grapples for grace.
I know you need some too. It's part of our make up, our messed up Homo Sapien DNA. We starve for grace, and then assuage our hunger with grit and dust of the temporary.
Homo Sapien. It's Latin for wise man. But how to be wise in this grace drought? I don't have enough to hold you up today, not when I'm crying for my own rescuing.
When I get back on my feet, then can I reach for your hand?
He did promise to turn ashes into beauty. He's transforming us. The grace tank gets filled back up when I open my eyes to see it, and open my heart for you to see it.
Come on in.
Come see grace where you may, and I'll read your smile with joy when you recognize it. My empty honesty filling you up, and your filling overflowing into me. And it works both ways.
Fountains of grace. The source is Him.