Taryn D
Grace and Grit
I used
to think
myself insincere
if I praised God
through gritted teeth.
That is, until
I took my feeling
off of its pedestal
and kindly reminded it
that it does not
dictate the truth.
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When I preach
to my own heart
I begin
to slip
into a flow
of the joyful assurance
of my Helper. Like a stubborn
branch caught on the bracken of
a rivershore, my mind is dislodged from
its cobweb by a warm bass note that resonates
deeper than any earthly frequency of happiness.
I yield myself to His rhythm with two left feet towards
my bedrock of joy and of peace. This melody drowns my fears. It lifts my
leaden load and leads me to the cuckhold of the one truth I know-- Love come down
for me. Singing the cross evaporates my burdened black attitude. An effervescent bounty
of grace surrounds my clumsy notes and off tones and elevates me atop waves and currents
and stormy seas. They are beneath my feet when I sing. I remember who I am in Christ, and fret not
about tomorrow’s bread, laughing and leaning
into his promise,
instead.
