All of my life, I saw the devil's hands of injustice played upon the fragile lives of the poor and also in the lives of my family. Everyone thought I was born into privilege by the color of my skin and from the historical lineage of my ancestors, but not a lot of people knew how hard we worked.
At face value, others saw my face and defined me by the generalization of my features. The serious oval, boring black hair, indifferent eye brows, and round nose of a glutton. There was so much criticism of me, that prejudice was ingrained inside my life. I was seldom told I was beautiful or loving, so growing up, I tried to become something I desired, a woman with a gorgeous face and heart. Some days, I felt I failed, and thought I haven't done enough.
Grace never told me that I deserved to work for beauty or kindness. It told me that I was as I am, of grace and beauty. This gave me profound comfort and healing. Knowing I was loved and accepted, although the world said I was nothing special. Grace sought me during my ugly crying and lifted me as if I was a pure dove, letting me fly to perch on a rose. The thoughts of the injustices, unfairness in life, flaws of my self-criticisms, and just being plainly harsh on myself felt so yesterday. It wasn't something I wanted to keep. Grace threw it away, into the netherworld where those things belonged.
Some days I found it hard to think upon grace and not upon judgements. Some days, I fell into the well of self-pity, but there I found the grace I needed, unexpectedly and let it comforted me. Letting grace entered my soul was so right that all the wrongs disappeared, even when I was alone. I felt beautiful inside the arms of grace.
Grace was so beautiful, and I was born out of it.