by Gideon Burton
To count, it seems, a miracle is sudden,
so deviating from what we expect;
spectacular, our doubting senses flooded,
immediate and palpable, direct.
For these, we wait, and when they come, we bow
before divinity among us strong.
Some miracles, however, are not now;
amazing, still, though their arrival's long:
nine months, a human life assembled new;
a golden wedding's victory over self;
a habit, years dismantled, till it's through;
a softened heart that's measured for its wealth.
To live in constant awe before His face
requires a pace in sync with constant grace.
Picture: flickr - Nathan O'Nions