Poetry from 53A
Motes of dust on specks of sand
joined as shoreline of land
waiting at the water’s edge of God's mercy,
our gathering place.
Alone, I am, in this gathering place.
My sin my own, an offense not to be compared to any other's.
All insult of sin so great, a rejection of God's friendship,
infinite goodness and grace.
Feeling love for Him, how could I not love myself?
Neither is possible alone.
Loving patience, forgiving and infinite -
His only demand? Embrace good, reject evil.
White room, adorned in nothingness, becomes my slate,
my learning place, of recognition.
Sins un-recounted, forgiveness a plea. Accepting God's mercy,
we unwrap His gift of our uniqueness.
Mote on dust -
Dust on sand grain -
Grain in a sea of sand grains -
Alone but known