When the lake is bare, when quiet surrounds, and there is not one ripple on this deep expanse, Nature breathes. Perhaps there may be a descending flock of geese, perhaps a sudden splash of trout tail, or a thirsty doe and her fawn. But there is no appearance at the water’s edge, and for now, none to move its striking beauty.

When it is myself who is laid bare, there is no beauty in my surrounding. There is no grace in my being. At the edge of my reach, my fingertips fall short of that great lake. Still, my hidden chasm is deeper, the places where I refuse to acknowledge your love and harbour my darkest secrets. I run into you fleeing from my greatest fears; I shy away from your dazzling light on numb days; I forfeit all my strength, yet still you catch me. For where shall I wander that you will not provide for me, for what pains that pierce me will you not tend to, for where can I escape so that you will not chase after me? In the silence of what has been laid bare, still your love finds me, and I weep.



#grace
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