BY: JANA GREENE
Grace is a funny thing.
It delights us when granted when we screw up.
And it pisses us off when applied to someone we feel is undeserving of it.
It slips out of the cuffs of condemnation,
It rises above the rules we think it should follow.
It holds accountable only itself.
It is pure.
Grace is golden when get extend it,
And humbling when we receive it.
It runs ram-shod over rules, and laws,
It cares not for protecting secrets,
Or making others pay.
It isn’t “fair” to us,
And thank God for that.
Grace is a thousand points of light,
A thousand Tiffany lamps,
Shining, bold, brightly colored.
It is a “do over,” for what is done,
And a fresh start for what is coming.
Grace is the Bail Bondsman who leaves the door open.
It is the Father who forgets that you tripped up at all.
It is free, but not cheap.
When all other avenues have been exhausted,
Grace chases shame out of the neighborhood.
The only commodity we are commanded to spend,
Grace builds up,
Shores up,
Holds up.
The byproduct of love,
Grace has unfathomable value,
Just like those for whom it is poured out.
Grace can be scandalous and offensive,
But it always makes it’s mark,
Washing the Spirit clean.
Trade it, give it, spend it,
Let it set you free.
It is for freedom we are set free by it,
Spread that stuff around.
Musings of a Gypsy Soul 