A man in sackcloth slowly washes the floor of the church on his knees. The pain he feels is not from his knees but from his soul. Tears mix with water washing the floor. His soul sees face after face of those chained and enslaved. Those stolen from homes and families to be entombed on a ship to be locked into life long slavery. He hears the screams of those being branded like cattle. The soul crushing sobs of a mother who will never see their child and the child who will never see their family. He can smell the blood, pus and other bodily fluids that follow a slave ship for miles. He hears the splash as the dead and dying are dropped overboard for the sharks that follow slave ships across the ocean. Through tears he looks at the cross at the altar and whispers the words God has given him to combat the despair in his soul – “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me.” Tears continue to run down the weathered cheeks to fall on the floor. A floor bathed in tears. Tears of grace.

From my Grace Journal. It was suggested to start a Grace Journal as a reminder of our need not for agreement but grace to guide our relationships.