Squanderer, that's what I am.
Of a gift.
It's unfair, how loved I am.
For being me.
There's absolutely nothing I do to earn it.
It just comes.
Heavy. Deep. Palpable. Unending.
Through my groom, it infiltrates my every failure.
Steady. Smooth. So undeserved.
It comes to me without my asking. And even without my receiving.
Push is what I do. Away.
Almost too much to take, I often want to look away.
Because this love is God, moving in and through and around a willing spirit.
It's more than remarkable. It's simply life-awakening.
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