Morning Blades

Have mercy on me, O Lord, a saint who sins. For You and You alone are truly merciful. Only you can understand why You’d forsake Your throne to be scorned at the hands of cowards, all-the-while, being left fatherless during the height of Your suffering. How great is Your mercy? Greater than all the grains of sand in all the beaches in all the worlds.

Compassion lingers eternal on your tongue and Truth kisses you on both cheeks. You, who love to be gracious, scrape the sin off the walls of my soul. You don’t merely paint white walls and spray potpourri; You deracinate any self-righteous weeds that strangle the Spirit’s fruit.

Be firm yet forgiving, O Lord, so I may become more like You: one who walks away from temptation and prays; one who invests time with sinners and gays. Too many times I shake my head at people in disgust, while You shake Your head at them in love.

Help me not to judge others with a super-critical and hypersensitive heart. I find myself condescendingly praying for others and then showing compassion, when I know all too well that You require love, first. I am no better than the slop in a sow’s trough.

Like the dew that bends the morning blades of grass lamentation bends my knees to the hope of better days. Your grace is a warm blanket shrouded over me – a personal blanket that is perpetually woven.

The more I sin the bigger it grows.

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Chester Delagneau


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