Grace is a beautiful hindsight thing, explained in the providence of provisions unseen. Often camouflaged in tatters or fearful tears, of what at the time feels like failure of a broken dream. But who are we to know what we want before we know who we are? Why are we so enamored with grasping dreams and not waking up? Why are we so confident in our our guesswork? Oh Grace you are so kind to coach us on how this quest works. At first the one who skips the rock, then the bouncing stone, followed by the goal to cross the pond, and then the ripples come. After repeating this enough a callus forms, and the ambitious mind soon sees its own goals as it’s own storms. But Grace knows that this only stops once we get worn out from being worn. So the skipping is accommodated until a special ripple comes that stings. A special handwritten note from Grace, reading a calm lake is most serene. Stop throwing stones and come back home. 



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