how fast we can find ourselves needing them; their elusiveness when life thrusts circumstances upon us that seem to send them fleeing while we run scared; how easily they're reduced to platitudes when everything in us feels contradictory . . .
how desperately we need our village of compatriots to wave them like banners over us - or maybe hold them over our heads like a tarp in a down-pour - when we can't grasp them in our own grip, or to sound them both in whispers and with bullhorns when our ears can't pick up their frequency, or to bake them into our bread and disperse them in our water for us when our only food and drink is sorrow, pain, and despair.
Grace - getting better than what we deserve. Mercy - not getting the worst of what we do. Peace - tranquility, harmony, the cessation of war.
Oh, to wave their banner, speak their names, and feed them to the starving.
Grace, mercy and peace. They're all I can think about tonight.
Grace, mercy and peace. They're all I can think about tonight.
He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater, He sendeth more strength when the labors increase; To added affliction He addeth His mercy, To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace. — Annie Johnson Flint
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