Grace
When the convener of the writers group suggested the topic of grace I thought of the different flavors of grace which I have experienced.
There has sometimes been the sickly, sweet, amorphous flavor of the person Grace; the one who, when asked if she slept well, replies, “Of course I slept well. I have a clear conscience.”
Grace is the brilliant blue flavor which was promised by the old-time preacher in that country Baptist church. This promise of unconditional love was offered conditioned on my rejection of the essence of who I knew myself to be.
Then there was the silky, soft just right taste of Grace offered by that child – my son – who looked up at his parents with innocent love.
This many years later Grace arrives in the flavors of all the cultures, shades and hues of color, sexuality, ages, and sizes. Grace arrives in the cinnamon taste of autumn, the electrifying, almost numbing taste of winter, the light, not so sweet cotton candy of spring and the sultry, heavier taste of summer.
Grace was my Aunt Pleasie and Uncle Happy whose love was never sharp or critical but gently educational.
Grace was an evening with Grandma Fannie as we learned to feed our minds and souls.
Grace was the opportunity to attend college and then graduate school regardless of the lack of finances or brilliance.
Grace was a first kiss.
Grace is now knowing that I am not in control, do not know the answers and do not need awards and yet being able to do that for which I have a passion.
Grace is writing because one has to and not because one will become famous or be published.
Grace is the stillness of presence until one melts into the essence of all that is.
Grace is …
Written November 2, 2017
When the convener of the writers group suggested the topic of grace I thought of the different flavors of grace which I have experienced.
There has sometimes been the sickly, sweet, amorphous flavor of the person Grace; the one who, when asked if she slept well, replies, “Of course I slept well. I have a clear conscience.”
Grace is the brilliant blue flavor which was promised by the old-time preacher in that country Baptist church. This promise of unconditional love was offered conditioned on my rejection of the essence of who I knew myself to be.
Then there was the silky, soft just right taste of Grace offered by that child – my son – who looked up at his parents with innocent love.
This many years later Grace arrives in the flavors of all the cultures, shades and hues of color, sexuality, ages, and sizes. Grace arrives in the cinnamon taste of autumn, the electrifying, almost numbing taste of winter, the light, not so sweet cotton candy of spring and the sultry, heavier taste of summer.
Grace was my Aunt Pleasie and Uncle Happy whose love was never sharp or critical but gently educational.
Grace was an evening with Grandma Fannie as we learned to feed our minds and souls.
Grace was the opportunity to attend college and then graduate school regardless of the lack of finances or brilliance.
Grace was a first kiss.
Grace is now knowing that I am not in control, do not know the answers and do not need awards and yet being able to do that for which I have a passion.
Grace is writing because one has to and not because one will become famous or be published.
Grace is the stillness of presence until one melts into the essence of all that is.
Grace is …
Written November 2, 2017
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