Grace, Interrupted . . .

She was the soft in a world too rough,
The arms that held when storms were tough.
She watered roots she did not grow,
Lit lanterns no one asked to glow.

A quiet giver, never loud,
She walked beneath the weight of clouds.
Saved each coin like it held a dream,
Sewed her hopes into every seam.

Not for jewels or fleeting fame,
But just to carve her own small name —
A rented room, a peaceful day,
A place where pain could melt away.

But life is cruel to hearts that bend,
And mercy doesn’t always mend.
One morning came, the balance bled,
The walls collapsed, the future fled.

No thief had come, no sin was clear,
Just emptiness and growing fear.
She knelt beneath the ceiling’s crack,
And whispered, God, do You love back?

Have I been blind to others’ ache?
Did I give wrong, did I mistake?
Was I too much, or not enough?
Did kindness make me just a bluff?

She searched her past, each word and deed,
As if compassion birthed her greed.
The hands once warm with holy light,
Now trembled through the endless night.

She feared she’d been a fool for good,
That virtue’s not well understood.
And maybe, just beyond the sky,
God turned His face and let her cry.

But listen close — though she is torn,
From sacred cracks, new strength is born.
Not every loss is punishment,
Not every test is discontent.

Some souls are chosen just to feel,
To break so others know what’s real.
And though she doubts, the world still saves —
The girl who gave… still deeply gives.