Through the Fog

Tag: grace

  • A Chance

    You gave me a chance

    when they had already decided

    I was done.

    When my mistakes were louder

    than my effort,

    when my name came with footnotes,

    when worth felt conditional

    and temporary.

    They saw my failures

    and stopped there.

    You saw the space after—

    the trying,

    the rebuilding,

    the quiet work no one applauds.

    You didn’t flinch at my history.

    Didn’t ask me to explain

    every scar.

    You just handed me room

    to be more

    than what broke me.

    You believed in a version of me

    I was still learning how to trust.

    You treated me like someone

    becoming—

    not someone ruined.

    And maybe you’ll never know

    how much that mattered.

    How being given a chance

    can feel like oxygen

    when you’ve been holding your breath

    for years.

    You gave me a chance

    when they thought I was worthless—

    and in doing so,

    you reminded me

    I never was.

  • Grace in the Now

    God lives inside you—

    you already found Him.

    In the quiet refusal to give up.

    In the breath you took

    when quitting would’ve been easier.

    In the part of you that still reaches

    for light

    even with shaking hands.

    You keep looking outward,

    as if holiness only exists

    somewhere far away,

    but grace has been pacing your chest

    this whole time,

    patient,

    unimpressed by your doubt.

    The devil lives in memories.

    In the old scenes he replays

    until they feel prophetic.

    In the nights he convinces you

    that what hurt you once

    gets to define you forever.

    He doesn’t need claws or fire.

    He just hounds you

    with what already happened.

    With words you can’t unsay.

    With moments you survived

    but never forgave yourself for.

    God doesn’t shout over that noise.

    He waits.

    In the present.

    In the now.

    In the choice to stop letting yesterday

    put its hands around your throat.

    You aren’t lost.

    You’re distracted by echoes.

    And every time you choose this moment—

    every time you stay—

    you loosen the devil’s grip

    and remember where God has been

    all along.

    Inside you.