Grace is Red

Grace comes violently. Not waiting for the right time, nor for a welcome, grace is rude. It never appears on wings or with softness as some would have you think. Grace is not soft pink. Grace is red.

Grace does not float, but stalks in like a blood-thirsty animal, always following or directly preceding the worst possible brutality.

To feel grace is never to feel pure bliss, since grace is a messy business. It cannot be asked for, nor traded. Grace comes on its own accord, bustling and biting its way through.

Grace is linked to god, but grace does not need a god to exist. Grace is not doctrine, but something that burrows deep into flesh, into bones. To feel grace for real is to feel like a river, rushing over and through land that has been carved deep already, knowing that you still have a place to go.

(image by inkheart2 DeviantArt)