Thy will be done
H er writing grips me still. Makes me pause long in thought. Lights the wicker of my soul. The Farmer's wife. His servant girl...her life. Her words. Her book: all grace. Simple grace. I read her book and discover lessons from Him. This book is not for skimmers. I read these words in her book: "Eucharisteo makes the knee the vantage point of a life and I bend the body, it says it quiet: 'Thy will be done.' This is the way a body and a mouth say thank you: Thy will be done. This is the way self dies, falls into the arms of Love." I put the book down again. I decipher words. I am, again, stilled. Moved stiff. I, too, bend the knees. Clasp the hands and bow the head. I mutter my utterances to Him who sees the heart. He has heard me speak these words before. Long ago. Somewhere...somehow...the roots of living and life chocked away the desire to give Him my will tot...