grace || a poem

(friday morning, april 12)

6:00am is soft and grey and music

a morning without pressure,

only to breathe and be

present. Rain and spring are tied together

here. But I know:

a harsh winter doesn’t promise a mild summer. 

As the cold in my bones thaws,

no one can promise easy.

Meredith sings along and

maybe this is grace—

daring to sing before sunrise.

There is no perfection here.

This is so much more.

Here is songs in the dark

with rattle heartbeats,

holding each other with earthquake hands

The storms and

the drought and

the ice come, and 

most of the time I don’t understand.

The older I get,

the more confused I am.

How is this God’s will for me?

Where is hope when I’m not sure I want a future?

But here is morning and coffee

with struggle turned pretty

by facing the dawn.

And no, I don’t know how to keep going.

I don’t know how to say “I love you” without stuttering

or if I will every truly feel the sun again.

But I am trying,

and today I know

this is enough.