Life (a poetry challenge)

I hold it in my hands,

Newly birthed and quaking

In its raw and unharmed state.

Carefully I turn it around,

Inspecting all the curves and edges,

Praying it will be okay.

My hopeful eyes fall

Upon several flaws; a few rips

In the seam along the edge.

Is it okay? I cry to the Maker,

Who stood watching me with love

While I turned it over.

I hold it out to Him

Hoping He will take it and fix it,

But He gently rejects my hand.

I made it for you,

He replies, And in the end

It will have been worth the few flaws.

This time I look at it

With courage and strength.

My grace is sufficient, He says.

Linda Peachey, 03/02/21