This book is by the one who thought he’d be farther along by now, but he’s not.
It is by the inmate who promised the parole board he’d be good, but he wasn’t.
It is by the dim-eyed who showed the path to others but kept losing his way.
It is by the wet-brained who believed if a little wine is good for their stomach, then a lot is great.
It is by the lair, tramp, and thief; otherwise known as the priest, speaker, and author.
It is by the disciple whose cheese slid off his cracker so many times he said ‘to hell with cheese ‘n’ crackers’.
It is by the young at heart but old of bone who is led these days in a way he’d rather not go.
This book is also for the gentle ones who’ve lived among the wolves.
It is for those who’ve broken free of collar to romp in fields of love and marriage and divorce.
It is for those who mourn, who’ve been mourning most of their lives, yet they hang on to‘shall be comforted’.
It is for those who’ve dreamed of entertaining angels but found instead a few friends of great price.
It is for the younger and elder prodigals who’ve come to their senses again, and again, and again, and again.
It is for those who strain at pious piffle because they’ve been swallowed by Mercy itself.
This book is for myself and those who have been around the block enough times that we dare to whisper the ragamuffin’s rumour - all is grace.
(Brennan Manning: All Is Grace)
A book with three parts and 236 pages.