Vengeance, he said, is Mine.

I pondered that for many long moments, nearly decided that those seconds lacking retribution were much too tedious. Considered taking matters into my own hands. The taste of rage in my throat, like the formation of some cruel cancer. Tears fretting on the surface of my defiant and recalcitrant nature. I’m thinking “Lord, are you not swift to crush my bones?” This God having threshed the floor about me on numerous occasions. Whom He loves, he chastens. Now, in honesty, I am no better than the Cretan. Oft cursing myself by my own craft. Reducing my grandeur to something callous and bland, failing to recognize the truth and the calling within me. Recognizing the voice and the face of Christ who dwells nearly. I become aware, the wretch whom I favor by glinting mirror. The fool who begs wisdom by candlelight in still cold night. Blotted by grace alone and bound to the precept that I too am fallible.


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