Father, how could I be adequately grateful…. for grace?
I am that cheat hanging next to you. Exposed and pitiful. My guilt laid bare.
Angry words. Bitter heart. Impatient. Unloving.
All the while you are taking the blame, covering for my inadequacies. Despised and rejected of men… a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief…
And yet you looked at me, seeing my repentance, and offered me…. grace.
Something I couldn’t be worthy of. A gesture I could never repay.
Every morning, it rises again. A new, refreshing covering.
Despite the inadequacies I tallied evening prior.
How could One’s mercy be so vast? Unchanging? Immeasurable?
Because you are incomprehensible.
You are the Potter, and I am the small vessel not yet made.
Thank you… for grace greater than our sins, which number beyond the sands on the shore.
For though I was as scarlet… I am white as snow.