Not one of us is perfect.

Not one of us is fully formed.

We are but buds on the stem,

and wobbly saplings,

with thirsty roots –

searching for ground.

Every day,

we come up short in some way.

We offend our intentions, 

allowing the pain within

to attach more deeply.

Our path is littered with

all we have dropped,

despite all the trying

on the way to perfect.

To heal,

we turn around,

and gaze upon the lessons…

We pick them up,

one at a time,

and lift them to our heart.

In the lifting, we proclaim:

Holy, holy.

Holy, holy.

Now touched by grace,

we can turn around, facing forward –

and begin again –

reminded of what it feels like

to be held.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018