Two people went up to the temple to pray,
one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.
They are not two people. Never are.
They are both me.
Sure of my worthiness, sure of my unworthiness.
Believing the illusion of deserving.
But only the trusting one,
open to what can only be a gift,
receives what is always offered
The other earns their little wage
and goes home still wanting.
Generous One, I trust your grace.
I open my hands to your gift,
my heart to your dependable miracle.