The Descent to Grace

by Sarah Steele

Layered Harmonies by Sarah Steele

THE DESCENT TO GRACE

I climbed the Mountain of Piety

by way of the Trail of Self-Righteousness,

clothed myself with Good Deeds and

walked with the staff of Self-Assurance.

I let my light shine from my man-made flashlight

and kept extra batteries in my pocket—so any

flickering fatigue could be quickly resolved—

and sprinkled the path with kindness and mirrors

so those who saw my goodness could reflect it back to me.

I carried the burdens of other travelers, 

kept mounding them on my back— 

a thank you or simple we are not worthy alleviating some of the weight—

until I had my own Tower of Goodness reaching up 

to knock on Heaven’s door and announce my coming arrival.

When I then tripped under the pressure of perfection, 

I extinguished my light so none could bear witness to my stumbling.

Still, I clenched and climbed and clawed my way to the peak, and

I reached it, goshdarnit, alone and panting and proud.

I reveled in my august accomplishments, 

flexed my Pharisaical traditions, 

gloried in my superficial holiness, when

a mountaintop glistening in the distance caught my eye. 

I recognized it as Mount Grace, and I knew its travelers had arrived, 

weary and wounded, solely by clinging to the tow rope of another’s work, 

and as I formed my mouth into a scoff, 

I looked around at the sudden barrenness of my mountain and

felt the ground begin to shift under my very feet. 

Shift? No—crumble!

Everything I knew and had worked my life for was disintegrating, and

I rode the landslide of brokenness and repentance 

as it pushed me away from Piety to the base of Grace.

Pride ripped from my chest, 

the belt of Self-Deception shredded, and

my sacred Good Deeds were crushed beneath the rubble of Despair. 

Instead, a blanket of Humility wrapped itself

around my nakedness, and the warmth of 

another’s righteousness penetrated my soul,

stirring Life wholly new.

The tow rope whirred just beyond my reach.

I shakily stood up, dropped my flashlight, and grabbed on.

Awake the Dawn, watercolor, by Sarah Steele

SARAH STEELE

Sarah Steele is a Michigan-based poet, songwriter, spoken word performer, and senior editor for The Way Back to Ourselves. Her poetry memoir, An Ocean Without, reflects her gift for putting words to the experiences of people-pleasing and boundary-less living, which so many have resonated with. Through her writing and performances across the Midwest, Sarah invites audiences to find honesty, humor, and hope in the tension between weakness and grace.

She also writes The Village Poet, a Substack newsletter, where she reminds readers that every village needs a poet and your village needs you.

When she’s not writing or singing, she can probably be found reading to her four redheads.