#brownpaperwords is a series I began some many months ago. I string words together—typically while the sun is rising—in my brown-paper journals. Sometimes there is not enough room on the page. Other times there is plenty of negative space, just like the page below. Whether plenty or few, the #brownpaperwords serve as a marker of a moment. A snapshot that makes tangible—makes visible—a thought that stretched me and moved me. And so I share them in hopes to move another.
Grace. It belongs no more to one, than another. In a world of possessing, grace defies the rules. It is mine and it is yours and it is his and it is hers. We can claim it as our own but we cannot claim it as only our own. When we are hurt or wronged and that sly, quiet voice tries to whisper bitterness or self-pride into us—it is grace that speaks louder and sweetly drowns out the offer to believe we are blameless.
It is grace that empties the stones from our pockets before we dare to throw them.
It is grace that reminds us of all the times we ourselves have done the wronging and the apologizing, and been granted the healing balm of forgiveness.
It is grace that exchanges bandaids for bruises.
Who among us even knows what we are doing? We are all just fumbling to love and be loved. Brushing and warming one another with our dark and our light.
& it is grace that mends all of our tattered seams.