Grace... the tender hush between breaths, when the world forgets to rush and the soul remembers its name. It comes not with thunder— but like mist at dawn, soft-footed and sure, curling gently around the jagged places. Grace does not ask if you're ready. It arrives when your knees hit soil— when all that’s left is the letting go. A cracked voice in the dark, a hand held when no words come, a dawn after the longest night. It is the miracle we didn’t know we prayed for. The warmth that finds us even in the shadow. Grace... doesn't fix all things— but somehow makes them bearable. Beautiful, even. And sometimes— just sometimes— it’s enough to take one more breath, and keep going.