A Table Grace:
Into the bleakest winters of our souls, Lord (Great Spirit), you are tiptoeing on tiny Infant feet to find us, hold our hands. May we drop whatever it is we are so busy about these days to accept this gesture so small that it may be overlooked in our frantic search for something massive and overwhelming. Remind us that it is not you who demands large, lavish celebrations and enormous strobe-lit displays of faith. Rather, you ask only that we have the faith of a mustard seed and willingness to let a small hand take ours. We are ready. ~ Margaret Anne Huffman
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