The Hidden Journal

Grace doesn’t shout.
It moves like breath —
invisible, patient,
always arriving right when I’ve stopped reaching for it.

───

I used to think grace was something I had to deserve,
that it lived in the distance between who I was
and who I wanted to become.
But now I know —
it lives in the pause between mistakes,
in the soft forgiveness that follows truth.

───

The sound of grace isn’t music you can play.
It’s quieter —
the silence after release,
the heartbeat steadying,
the whisper that says,
You’re still worthy.

───

It finds me when I least expect it —
in the middle of ordinary days,
in the way I let someone love me without shrinking,
in the way I meet myself
with less fear each time.

───

Grace has its own rhythm.
I just had to learn how to listen.

───

— Desiree