[Blessings2You]

Grace for the Spaces

“My grace is sufficient for you....”
I know that, Lord, in theory, at least,
And most of the time, in practice.
Sometimes I have to be reminded
That You give more grace as the burdens grow greater,
That I don’t need to carry those burdens alone.
They’re heavy. Sometimes inconceivable.
Circumstances I just can’t handle,
People too difficult for interaction,
Physical tasks pushing the boundary of possible.
You’ve made good on that promise, Father,
And Your grace has lifted me above the circumstances,
Formed a bond between me and my brothers,
Shored me up with strength or perseverance.

Your grace has been sufficient for those heavy things;
Sometimes, though, my biggest need
Is not grace for the heavy, difficult, present things in my life,
The “real” things...
But for grace to fill the spaces
Where there’s nothing there at all.
The spaces left by things I used to be able to do,
Places I once was able to go,
People I talked with, and laughed with, and touched.
The person I used to be.
The empty places, Father,
Are where I need Your filling grace.
I need to know You’re near when loved ones live far away.
I need to know You value me
When I can no longer play the organ for the service,
Help on work day,
Or think quickly enough to vote aye or nay.

I need Your grace
To fill the aching holes left by those
Who live in photos and memories.
I need your cooling grace
When hot humiliation washes over me
As I struggle to keep up, knowing I can’t.
I need your warming grace
In the cold hollows of loneliness,
The shadowy dampness of near despair.
I need to hear You say You love me
When no one with skin
Will say the words without prompting.

Thank you, Father, for understanding
That sometimes my heaviest burden is emptiness;
Your grace fills up that space to every corner,
Spilling over,
Sufficient for me.

[Kitty]

Oh......so beautiful. So beautiful. I need to keep reading it over and over. Thank you for this.

[gramE]

The highs and lows come and go, many times they are gone quicker than we think.

It is the mundane, everyday, routine portion of life where the true test of our faith takes place. How beautifully your poem expresses that truth.

Merry Christmas,
pat