Grace Makes Us

Grace Makes Us

Lately, I think it’s grace that makes us

push up through the soil of our lives

like the blades of a daffodil that may

take weeks to bloom, but at least

senses that first moment of softening

warmth in the earth, and slices through

old leaves to meet it. What a waste

a closed heart is, like a fist that clenches

of its own accord, so caught in habit

the hand doesn’t know what it’s doing.

Yesterday, I moved the broken base

of a birdbath from the yard, but was able

to salvage the bowl—still uncracked

after months of bitter cold—placing it

in the grass to fill with rain, as grace

falls into our days, drop by drop, when we

stay open enough to become the water

offered to others, and the seam of light

reflected in each ripple, and the intact

bowl that holds it all.

I must confess: I don’t know what grace is exactly, and I have a more secular understanding of the word. Though hard to describe, I believe we have all felt some version of this unearned, freely-given energy that seems to seep into our lives without our noticing, bringing relief, insight, and compassion when we need it the most. No matter what we name it, there is some force that awakens us like the bulb of a daffodil, knowing just the right time to send up its first blades, slicing through the layers of old leaves to reach for light and warmth. And we know that a closed heart can block this movement of grace through us, each wall we place between ourselves and the world, keeping out harm as well as what will heal us. I don’t suggest it is easy to keep the channels open and clear. It seems to take daily effort to stay honest and authentic with ourselves. Grace doesn’t save us from brokenness either, but can allow us, even in pain and disappointment, to respond more creatively, and salvage what we can. That’s why I love the image of the broken birdbath that so desperately wanted to be included in this poem (though I resisted at first). Tumbled over and cracked from the weight of too much snow and ice through the winter, the birdbath appeared unusable. I was about to scrap the whole thing when it dawned on me that I could place the bowl right in the yard with no base, and rain would fill it just the same, drop by drop, as grace fills us—until we become like that wide-open bowl, able and willing to hold it all.

Invitation for Writing & Reflection: How would you define the energy of grace for yourself? Describe a specific moment when grace seemed to sweep in, and you felt saved by this unasked-for and unearned presence in your life.

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I'm thrilled that the earth-centered and renowned poet

Jacqueline Suskin

will be joining me for the next session of my Monthly Pause Writing Community on Wednesday, 4/9 at 1pm ET. Please consider subscribing, if you're not already a member, for monthly infusions of sacred conversation and supportive writing time from prompts that we share. You can find more info here, and every session is recorded for later viewing.