What if pain is actually the purest form of grace,

Life in the birthing process,

Façade giving way to honesty in a trail of death

What if strength is but a series of shattered things,

Fortified by falling,

Flawed but priceless in the eyes of a perfect God

What if our two feet are not meant to make us stand

Or to stabilize this feeble man,

But rather give way to the arms of their creator

What if God’s mercies become clearest in our suffering,

In those times we doubt His love.

When we’re washed in tears, born through pain and close to giving up

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