Grace.  To abase, to abound, what does it mean? Whether ill and in pain, poverty of body and soul or abundant health, affluence, uncounted wealth, or somewhere in-between?

It’s knowing my anchor is firm and secure in the aftershock of disaster or the kite-flying days of spring and hope.

It’s knowing Who holds the rope.

No mater how high I fly, or how low I sink.  It’s what I know, not what I think.  So what if the sky does fall?

Should I flee in terror?  Or when my past is filled with mindless errors.  Why should I stand discourge and mope?

When I know Who holds the rope.

If the days are a brilliant blaze of sunshine and merriment, or dim, hopeless ones of discontent, the outcome is the same, my faith untouched, when I consider one who loves me so much.  The depth, the height, the breadth, the total scope.

When I consider the One who holds the rope.

Copyright June 8, 1990 Cordia Watson