Her face held the burden of knowing,
Knowing her faults and fears.
Yet in her eyes was a fire,
A sense that in spite of these things she survived.
A sense that because of these things she had survived.
Still there was a sadness over the cracks in her vessel.
I smiled, seeing that we shared this knowledge of self.
Though hers was deeper, from many more years.
All I could say is that our cracks...
If we really believe in God's grace,
If we really believe our cup runs over,
Then our cracks are simply the means for grace,
To spill on and fill up others.
She laughed and said,
"I sure am spilling a lot!"