Grace falls like rain. It pours. Drenches me, soaks my heart—this heart that beats without any help from me.
I was knit in my mother's womb and I don't remember when this heart first began its pumping. The Rain had been falling long before.
Grace doesn't measure me, but transforms me by renewal while I press on through struggle or heartache or happy moments. Yes, it's this I get to participate in—acceptance of you and me. Us.
And when I fail there is only all the more Grace, in musical silence, whispering love.
I am cherished.
I am chosen.