"Grace is not defined by God being forgiving to us even though we sin. Grace is when God is a source of wholeness, which makes up for my failings."
- Nadia Bolz-Weber, Pastrix
A few months ago, I had my first foray into blackout poetry and art journaling. I gathered a few scrap pages I had lying around from old children's books, and I began to explore as best I knew how, circling certain words and then blacking out more and more until only this remained:
what She had in mind.
The opening is big enough.
She crawled right in.
How she cried,
"We are free!"
|Photo by Elora|
A few days later, I sent the page off in the mail to a friend, sure that the words were for her somehow. But months later, they keep boomeranging back to me. I am reminded of them every time I let my mind drift to the Divine Feminine, every time I am implored to explore the depths of mystery and doubt. I am reminded of them in the moments when I feel overwhelmed by the sheer beauty I have found in this path, by wandering off into the unknown. I am reminded of them every time I get a glimpse into this entirely illuminated world we live in, and every time I think about my one word for the year: free.
The further I wander off, off into the forbidden wild, the more drunk I become on freedom. These days, the idea of returning to my old ways of living, to the securely gated pasture, feels as absurd as to be impossible. Who am I to enter back in and shut the gate behind me, I who have met joy and beauty and freedom on the other side, I who have experienced grace-- limitless, measureless, boundless grace-- in the wandering off?
O glorious grace, if it is an ocean, I want to spend my whole life exploring it.
*This post was inspired by a prompt in the Story Sessions community.*