I relied on my strength,
I relied on my own understanding,
I relied on what I believed I could do—
And I failed.
I undermined myself,
I hated myself,
And I continued to condemn myself.
But You, O Lord, were patient.
You continued to love me,
Even when I hated myself,
Even when I thought no one
Would ever come to love me.
But You proved me wrong.
From beginning to the end,
You loved me.
And all You ever asked of me
Was my surrendered heart.
All You asked of me was to surrender,
And You said You would take care of it.
I was unsure,
And I still am.
But I remembered Your goodness,
And I remembered Your miracles.
So, despite my doubts,
I chose to trust You.
Sing a song, the song of grace,
That saved me from that wretched place,
Where tears and agony know no end,
Where crackling flames consume the condemned.
It's through the blood that life is shown;
It's through the blood that I am known—
Not for sin or past mistakes,
But as one of the saints.
For a great price was paid;
How can my soul not be saved?
For by grace I was sought,
And by grace I was bought.
I did not call upon His name,
Nor even thought to seek His face.;
Yet still He called my soul, though lame:
"Fear not, for you were bought by My grace."
sometimes, I see
a note of grace
shimmering
in the curve
of a raindrop
When first the soul contemplates secret things,
A silent beam doth pierce her to the core;
Yet what she feels no other eye e'er brings
To light, though speech should labour evermore.
Deeper than speech is Silence, where unknown
The Nameless best is known, past mind and sign;
Leave thou a thread, or none: the choice thine own;
Some truths lie best entombed in Dark divine.
Writing her tears
Across a forest of flailing leaves,
Nature rests her startled fears
Singing melodies, rich
As the burgundy and gold,
Murmuring gently, a breathed prayer
Stilling the waters of a creek
Where grief is a ghostwriter
And the ache of yesterday tells your spirit
To believe…
Just yesterday, the stars melted
Into the sapphire skies – resting against the praises
Of summer’s echoed light, the Son
Blessing the yesterdays and tomorrows
With dancing roses and wisteria,
Graceful notes of what it is to open each petal,
Stirring senses, poetry so tempting
In each glimpse of dew, rain, or melodies
Hues flowing into the heavens, stirring God’s smile
As He captures hearts and souls
With His sweet voice, music soft as feathers,
Beautiful and blending with the meadows,
The hills, the creeks and rivers
All the warmth, never hesitating to restore
Each spirit, who comes before Him,
In a prayer, with praise, believing He can
And, yes – He will make all things new
Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter…
And my soul is living proof – God is so so good!
Grace
lifts,
soft light
unnoticed,
quiet as breath’s hush,
entering where sorrow once slept,
mending the hidden fractures we pretend aren’t there,
teaching the trembling heart to rise again without explanation,
reminding us that mercy is not earned but given, freely, like dawn.
A small town narrow street --
a Quaker door,
and lady who had passed by
there before.
Time had proven melodies
and more
were memories of songs
from graying halls.
Potluck offerings she'd
shared with all
the guests from off the street
who'd heard the call.
Prayers were offered up
at table's grace,
within these walls a sacred
tranquil space.
Her hungry spirit drawn
had found its place.
She walked the shoreline listening for truth, gathering shells of thought.
Salt wind shaped her longing, turning solitude into a calm inner tide.
From stillness she taught us grace—how ebb and flow remake a life.
At five, whole world a wondrous gleam,
A bottomless, bright, benign dream,
Each step a secret, shine so bright,
Moments like fleeting sunbeams’ light.
Fifteen years, a smooth shifting tide,
Where fervent feelings faintly hide,
A quest for self, a whispered plea
Of who I am eternally.
Thirty now, the path quite defined,
With purpose clear and heart entwined,
A steady stride, a settled grace,
Carving own dreams in time and space.
At fifty, wisdom starts to bloom,
Dispelling shadows, chasing gloom,
Reflecting past sweet or sour years,
In the span of time, without fears.
At seventy, some desired rest,
Where peace and quietness are blessed,
A life well lived, a journey's end
On loved ones, memories, depend.
I write of heartbreak, fears and tears
But then somedays, His love He shares
I hear His kindness in the voice of rain
He’s the wonder that comforts all my pain
Beneath the echoes of my deepest prayers
Shadows and feelings, blessings and cares
Beneath all the yearnings, are praises galore
For the One who created me, the One I adore
I write of dreams, still breath of spring and fall
The voice of winter is found in each distant call
But, mostly, I believe He touched my very soul
With love that reassures, love that makes me whole
I write to you, my fellow believer, my brother
I write of this joy and peace found in no other
He is the answer to every need, every desire
His love is wise and strong, it’s like a burning fire
Beyond the tears that seem to overwhelm me
There is a blessing of His grace, making me see
He tells us of His kindness with each rising sun
But nothing is more wonderful than His only Son!
She brings joy and delight with her infectious grace.
She’s our dream come true, with such a pretty face.
With her gorgeous smile she lights up the place.
She is always hurrying all over the place.
She giggles as she dances with such grace.
The sun shines brighter as I look at her sweet face.
So full of life, so spirited, with her happy little face.
Dress up clothes are strewn all over the place.
Amazing and vivacious that's our little girl Grace.
When born, all in the place admired baby Grace. Such a lovely face.
.
When the soul enters
The blood bought, purchased land
Thorns, thistles, and snakes
Are present in what it can't understand
The master gardener
Sends Grace to endure
Walking alongside the soul
As hands work out the cure
Others begin to gather
Some to hinder, some to aid
Grace helps the soul
Hang and lock the gate
The gate is grown in the Garden
Where boundaries forge desire
The Spirit of LOVE is explored
As WORD applies the fire
This is no ordinary structure
Made by human hands
Grace grows all the structures
Until the soul is mature enough to expand
...territory
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-21-2026
Leaves dance around the maple, complaining
Grumbling that autumn’s breath is too near
And, I remember times that don’t need explaining
Leaping in piles of crunchy leaves, without fear
Melodies, graceful as a prayer in the soul
Glorifying the Creator of this gentle fall
Winds and rain couldn’t stop – we felt whole
Because of the wonder in that autumn’s call
We soared through the air toward the pile,
Mountains of leaves buried us in their scent
This is what it means to be a child with a smile
Playing in leaves with autumn’s quiet consent
It felt like a psalm was being read by this day
Our hearts knew the melody of such grace
This is the meaning of heaven sent, I pray
That everyone discovers autumn’s sweet embrace
On the hills, and in the valleys, there are leaves
Just waiting for a child’s laughter and mirth
It only takes this memory and my soul believes
Nature offers solace to the children on earth
Fair maiden with the locks of molten gold,
Whose gentle grace doth make the sun seem dim,
No earthly treasure that the heavens hold
Can match thy virtue, pure in every limb.
Thine eyes, like morning dew upon the rose,
Do awaken all my spirit with delight;
When darkness falls and all the world doth close,
Thy shining tresses guide me through the night.
Sweet lady, let my humble heart draw near,
To tender thee a vow that shall endure;
Through every changing season of the year,
My love for thee abides forever sure.
No fleeting time can fade thy radiant hair,
Nor dim the sweet perfection of thy face;
For God hath framed no creature half so fair,
Nor crowned a maiden with so bright a grace.
Written: September 14, 2026, for a contest sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
****************
Salt stings your tears, each glistening bead of sadness.
Your breathing finds its natural rhythm, as if found
beneath the grief, a pulse untouched by innocence.
I mistook your quiet for apathy, yet innocence
remained—a fragile flame beneath the weight of sadness,
a sporadic, sparkling smile of something you had found.
Lost friends, lost years, yet somehow you found
a grace that gathered up your scattered innocence,
and gently lifted you beyond your darker sadness.
Perhaps God found innocence within your sadness.
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