Grace | 500 Words on Grace

by You Have My Word

Perfect mirror. Made with hands. Breath.

The mirror jumps. Free fall. Smashed.

Hands pick up. Piece together. Remake.

Jump again.

Remake again.

And again.

This isn’t working.

Let’s try something new.

Hands become flesh hands. Taste death. No, not a taste.

A three-course meal of death.

Pierced and bloody hands pick up mirror pieces.

Slowly, painfully, the mirror comes together. Not perfect, but getting there.

Trips, falls and jumps still happen, but smaller and smaller.

And pierced hands are there to catch.

That’s grace.

And the craziest part of it all? The part I can’t understand at all?

Somehow, the pierced hands allow us to help remake and piece together other mirrors.

And somehow, in healing others, we are healed.

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Today’s 500 Words on Grace writer is anonymous. Truth speaks louder than the speaker.

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