The cattle lower their heads as they enter/ the chapel. Even the lowly will be anointed./ Because Francis too had his time in the wilderness, lost in the mountains outside Assisi. He was/ drunk for months. Coming down from the hillside/ he kissed a man out of pity and through this grace/ became sainted.

Madeline Cravens

I am fascinated by grace. Specifically, the idea that we are born into original grace. Being born into original grace means we are safe to be vulnerable and forgive and heal. Being born into original grace means we are holy in the truest sense of connection and presence and reverence. Being born into grace means when we mess up — even really mess up — we can still be loved beyond measure. Being born into grace means we are not alone, even in our loneliest and most desperate times. Being born into grace means we both give and receive grace fully and completely. Being born into grace means we don’t have to ask for it. It simply is.

What if we carry original grace with us on our journey? What would that mean for our relationships with ourselves and others? What would that mean for the journey itself? Would it be softer and more abundant? Grace full?

This poem makes me think of the Prayer of St. Francis. The Prayer asks that we become instruments of peace in our world. I know the connection between peace and grace like I know it will be hot in Miami in August and I love to eat chocolate and pasta. Grace turns doubt into faith. Darkness into light. Hatred into love.