advent journal: good measure


I can show you a cup of flour,
or a pound of sugar, and

I’ve gotten pretty good at
scooping a two ounce cookie,

but I am at a loss to quantify
how heavy grief is,

how long a heart stays broken,
the depth of damage done,

how far it is to forgiveness,
the speed of the sound of loneliness —

even as I strain to comprehend
how a heart like yours

can hold a galaxy of grace,
how sorrow becomes weightless

in the gravity of your love,
how home is as close as you

calling my name in the dark
calling my name . . .



  1. I, too, am at a loss to quantify how heavy grief is. Any yet, as I am coming out the other side of the sharpness of grief, I am starting to see how soft the edges can be.

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