There aren't enough days
Enough weights to even out the scale.
Not enough good in me to clear the evil done. Ever.
Not a single deed is done that doesn't confirm it. Ever.
Walking with whispers of anxiety and ruby red cheeks betraying shame of the footprints I've left.
Stepping outside is a daily discipline of breathing in the Lord's forgiveness. Turned out in a cloak of humility under His armor of strength. Ready to be seen through, to be recognized for what I am. Every footfall is effort. Every click-clack of my heels. And still, He pushes me on. A nudge out the door with a recitation of His promises and graces already given.
And He tells me who He is.
He is grace, itself. He is patience. He is kindness. He is relentless.
He is beginning and end.
He is home. He is near.
He is justice with mercy. He is the strength for weak knees and weak hearts.
The hand offered in frightful places.
The washing of my feet.
Of my soul.
The gospel that guides my tread.
The calming voice:
It's okay, daughter. We're crossing the threshhold together.
Your works are not penance, but my own love to you. Step outside and see what beauty I have in store today.
Remember the road we've already walked. Remember.
And thanksgiving propels me forward. Past fear. Through the unknown. Because He is known to me. And He leads with love, my friends.
“Yet even now,” declares the Lord,
“return to me with all your heart,
with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;
and rend your hearts and not your garments.”
Return to the Lord your God,
for he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love;
and he relents over disaster.