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.