"The Weight of Grace" I tried to weigh my worth in the coins of effort, stacking hollow stones of habit and “well-done” against the crushing mass of what I cannot do. A ledger written in the ink of my own failing, a debt that pulled me toward the seabed, heavy with the salt of my "not enough." Then comes the weight of Grace— a paradox of gravity and levity. It is not a feather, but a mountain moved; it is a stone that bears me when I buckle. It weighs heavy upon my pride until it cracks, shattering the brittle shell of my “self” to let the light spill into the hollows. Look at the cross: the arithmetic of mercy. The debt was not lowered; it was paid in full, transferred to a frame of wood and bone. "Tetelestin." The seal upon the finished deed. Now I carry no burden but this holy weight— the gravity of a love that chose my name, a heavy, golden garment woven from his scars. It is the only thing that holds me steady when the wind tries to strip me bare.