(with thanks to Tim Kimmel for the inspiration and ending metaphor)
The oft’ first thought when faced with grace
Is that I must pick up the pace.
His gift so grand, completely free:
He must deserve a better me.
So off I go, as yet to learn
I can not gain what can’t be earned.
At first my sins, both large and mild
Seem odd since rescued from the wild.
I’m not sure what to do or think
I promise next time I won’t sink
To depths or doubt or rebel call
That echoes of my inbred fall.
But I’m no good, if I’m my own.
And grace seems like a con man’s loan.
But that’s not grace, at least not all
Of what was birthed the day He called.
For grace, it saves and then sustains
And never leaves though sometimes pains
Me as I wander, wonder, seek,
Abide and ask, “Why is it meek
That I must be?” For I’ve got gifts
And now their yours! (or so I wish)
And far along that road I find
That pride caused wand’ring from the vine.
And what I thought was all-sold-out
Instead created hurt and doubt.
For grace is all, it’s on and on;
It never ends once it’s begun.
And so, still free it is, am I.
I’m made to love Him, not to try
To earn by being filled with grace
More than the lesser ones who race.
Help me not seek holy status
Challenged to be best and brightest.
Help me love you more than laud
Of man, for I’ve a rad’cal God.
And realize all of cross-bought ways
Are first-class, full time gifts of grace.
We’d all like grace to be a march;
Just let us know, we’ll do our part.
But that won’t faith or will enhance
Grace is no march. It is a dance.
- Tad C. Pruitt, MD