Grace is the lubricant that ease a man’s journey; it is the ointment that brings him freshness. To operate outside grace is equal to using a blunt cutlass. Any labour done outside Grace is a labour in futility. It is fortune to contact grace in your mornings but to miss it is to keep with fatigue. A one minute work done under Grace has the capacity to till the entire earth. But a forty year labour fueled by human energy is sacrilege marked for demolition. A drop of grace is better than a store of goods. Grace announces a man, gracelessness cobwebs him. Grace is a priceless currency that frees a man from the fret of earthlings. It is the salver that services the eyes to behold external things. Grace grows a man, gracelessness grounds him. Grace is the life vest that keeps a man afloat on the sea of life. Grace is the oxygen that incubates the mind, its deflation results in fatality. Grace is a pass; the licenses to prosperity. The absence of it is the drought that impoverishes a man. Grace makes a man to leap over a wall. Gracelessness makes him to be stranded. Grace is alignment that balances a man for honours, to journey without it is to fellowship with dishonour for life without grace is grave. A man bereft of Grace is night traveler, susceptible to the oppression of marauding darkness but a man under Grace sky-rockets for he is humid with freshness of the morning and rides on the wings of an eagle. Grace is field, a fountain, a reservoir. To invest in Grace is to top the world. For life outside Grace is grass. But to locate grace one has to locate the GARDEN.

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