Snow falls gently
like little promises accumulating over the years,
piling into great mounds of failed commitment.
Too large to ignore,
it stands grim sentinel in the chill of resentment,
but it slowly melts away under the sunshine of mercy.
Some stays doggedly in accusing banks, old and crusted,
reminders of intentions long past—fresh and clean then,
but soiled now with the pollution of too many years of delay.
If God’s grace is like the melting sun,
then God’s mercy is like a shovel that cleans off the debris
and lets the land breathe again.
Lord, hear my prayer.
Let me live in the Spring of your forgiveness,
when you clear away the residue of my regret.
Give me the sense to promise less,
and the grace to fulfill more,
so that my no is no and my yes is yes,
according to the strength you grant me.
