The ice is thin enough for walkin'
The rope is worn enough to climb
My throat is dry enough for talkin'
The world is crumblin' but I know why
The world is crumblin' but I know why

The storm is wild enough for sailing
The bridge is weak enough to cross
This body frail enough for fighting
I'm home enough to know I'm lost
Home enough to know I'm lost

It's just enough to be strong
In the broken places, in the broken places
It's just enough to be strong
Should the world rely on faith tonight

The land unfit enough for planting
Barren enough to conceive
Poor enough to gain the treasure
Enough a cynic to believe
Enough a cynic to believe

Confused enough to know direction
The sun eclipsed enough to shine
Be still enough to finally tremble
And see enough to know I'm blind
And see enough to know I'm blind

Should the world rely on faith tonight

Wear Yours with a Difference

In Shakespeare’s Hamlet, the young Ophelia is tormented by grief and guilt over the death of her father. A misunderstanding results in her suicide. But in her final moments, Ophelia offers rue to those who hear her, admonishing them to “wear [it] with a difference.” In Shakespeare’s England, flowers were symbols for various emotions or characteristics. The virtue of grace would have done Hamlet well, instead of seeking vengeance.

I’m drawn to the character of Ophelia because she is tragic, like many things in this life. Her grief is unwarranted, her suicide devastating, because she is not responsible for any of the affairs unfolding around her, but the victim considers herself the perpetrator and cannot handle the responsibility of the guilt. She crumbles.

Life is not easy. If only some of us were to wear grace with a difference. Tragedy would still occur, no doubt. But the world does not need more condemnation; it needs forgiveness. Certainly we all do. A chance. A kind word. A safe place to stand when everything around us is falling apart, abusing us, subjecting us to exploitation and over-work. We are weary, victims, perpetrators, and human beings deeply in need of grace.

My life has not been easy, though perhaps it has been more simple than I realized. I have spent my days consumed with worry, bitterness, rage, and have viewed it all through a caustically critical heart. But touches of grace have changed me for the better. The world does not need more people like me. It needs people seeking love, seeking the good of others before their own, kinds words, encouragement, peace. I have fought for my way, for everyone to know that I’m right, for everyone to believe me.

At the end of the day, it is not important if you believe me, or even like me. Love is what is important. Love is important to me because I am a follower of Yeshua. I have failed in following His precepts. I have been caustic when I should have been gentle; hardhearted when I should have been tender; critical when I should have been accepting. I have been hurt deeply and have used that as an excuse to hurt others.

I do not wear grace with a difference. Ophelia, although fictional, is a tragic symbol for what happens in a world fueled by revenge and selfishness, not servanthood.

But I have experienced grace. I want to be different because of it.

Pudgy Graces

I had hurried from the crowded, humid reptilian exhibit with its sticky heat and noisy bird calls.

I wanted to escape that warmth and let my mind sail over blue ripples in the water and sit at the feet of the manatee.

I stood at the back as the same crowd surged around the thick glass that guarded the elegant beasts, but soon found an opening and rushed forward.

I sat
like a child
my skirt curled under me,
and pressed my face against the glass,
like a child.

And there I prayed that she would glide by me, so I could gaze upon her.

And she did.
Her body descended from the rays of light in the water,
and she showed off her curves and ripples of fat as she danced past me.

And then her face met mine. Nose to nose, through glass. Deep to deep, through glass.

Her eyes penetrated mine, and she shared a joke, a poem, a lesson, a metaphor, a dream, a belief.
And in them was more truth than in a million sermons.

I sat stunned and she turned and touched her fin to my hand, and then swam off, large and graceful in her sleeve of silvery blue flesh.

I want to wear her image around my neck,
as a reminder of that unspoken sermon
to be content, to be love, and to show off your curves in glorious twirls.