Victim of Grace

Not content to wait,
I seek.
I travel.
I pray.
I sit with what is and give the storm time
to settle.

I walk
through the city,
and out.
Through the noise
and beyond.
Through the war zone
to a place of refuges and wounded.

I stop.
“Be still” says the psalmist,
and still I become,
a rock with ears tuned
to the infinite,
to what is beyond my sight,
to a peace not of my making,
but waiting for me,
just on the other side of myself,
like a lover I do not deserve,
a God I have not earned,
a victim of Grace.

About this poem

Grace. It’s what makes life worth living. A dying thing in our world, I believe. Worth seeking. Worth offering. Worth the search.

The picture was taken at Cape Cod. My place of peace. (at least in the offseason.)

Tom