The Stone in His Hand

A feeling of power
rested in the palm of his hand;
holding the smooth stone
led him to feel superior
to the object of his derision...

She was an object;
delegated to the realm of damaged goods
and devalued in his estimation
with trial by jury neglected
...out of a misguided sense of justice.

"Vengeance is Mine saith the Lord"
the Bible did say, didn't it?
The memories of sunday school entered into
the forefront of his thoughts...

Still, he was justified in throwing the stone.
She had sinned; really messed up this time.
Her example would prevent her from doing it again,
and send a message to those even contemplating
wandering into the degradation of human flesh.

His girth made throwing difficult;
and then there was that nasty habit of blasphemy...
His temper made him hard to live with;
leading his family to tread on delicate ground
...just to breathe easily...

The warmth of the Savior's love
made it through one of the cracks in his armor;
melting the ice and length of chain that
held him captive to sin in his own right...

Down he fell and let the stone tumble to the dry earth.
His eyes looked up to heaven in entreaty;
speaking the volumes his heart was unable to verbalize...
and flinching in acknowledgement of his own falls from grace.