Surgery is over.
Grace is an inflated raft that can submerge to the floor of a sea to save you.
Grace is the silver thread that stitches up the shreds of mangled souls.
Grace is the eye that finds us where it refuses, there, to leave us.
Grace calls the waitress to the table and sits her down to wash her feet.
Grace sees underneath the manhole on a street of self-destruction.
Grace is the air to draw a breath in the belly of a whale.
Grace is the courage to stand in the shamed wake of a frightful falling.
Grace is the only fire hot enough to burn down a living hell.
Grace waits with healing in His wings when we’re too mad to pray.
Grace is the gravity that pulls us from depravity.
Grace races us to the Throne when we make haste to repent and always outruns us.
Grace treats us like we already are what we fear we’ll never become.
Grace is the doorpost dripping red when the angel of death grips the knob.
Grace is the stamp that says Ransomed on a life that screams Ruined.
Grace sets a table before me in the presence of my enemy even when my enemy is me.
Grace is the cloak that covers the naked and the palm that drops the rock.
Grace is divine power burgeoning in the absence of all strength.
Grace proves God true and every self-made man a liar for the sake of his own soul.
Grace is the power to do what we cannot do for the Name of Christ to go where it has not been.
Grace is a room of a thousand mirrors, all reflecting the face of Christ.
The eye popping
Power of the Cross.
Jesus Christ, Grace Incarnate.
Copyright 2013 Beth Moore
I have never in my life experienced God’s grace as I have in the past three years. I feel so unworthy but so blessed.
It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness. Lamentations 3. 22-23