Grace.

Sorrow overwhelms.
It finds it's way into every task and threatens my ability to function.
In invades my thoughts
defiantly showing it's strength
and rudely insisting that I pay it mind.

Fear permeates.
It holds tight to my heart
wrapping it's insidious fingers through and through
while it's deathly whisper does it's work:
convincing me that I cannot face this.

Heartache swells.
Promising to overflow and destroy the facade of platitudes and maturity.
It laughs at wisdom and snubs it's nose at healing.
It's used to victory and assumes it will hold the position of power.

Despair waits.
Hanging in the shadows for it's time,
knowing full well when to step in and take over.

And then,

Grace appears
in tears that take these strangely powerful, intangible monsters
and turns them into this water and salt miracle of Grace.

And as the liquid Grace flows from a seemingly bottomless well, it deflates sorrow.
Conquers fear.
Releases heartache.
Crushes despair.

It takes the promise of certain destruction
and washes it away,
leaving peace.
And quiet.
And hope.

So I welcome the tears.

I wear them proudly.

I worship God with them.


They are Grace.