And Be Gracious
Feed the beggars we fear.
Clothe the broken we blame.
Sit with the strangers we scorn.
And be gracious.
Love the agents who strike us.
Pray for the swindlers who use us.
Bless the wretch who laughs at our tears.
And be gracious.
Give while our hearts resent it.
Give when our fists still tremble.
Give until greed runs out of names.
And be gracious.
Speak to power with no curtain.
Name the wolf a wolf.
Refuse the empire its prayer.
And be gracious.
Drop the stones we polished.
Let silence accuse us first.
Remember how easily we could break.
And be gracious.
Choose peace when victory tastes sweeter.
Choose justice when silence sings softer.
Choose compassion when cruelty hits quicker.
And be gracious.
Serve where no one watches.
Carry what is not ours.
Love without the promise of heaven.
And be gracious.
Why I Choose to Be Gracious
I did’t write this poem to preach to anyone. I wrote it to remind myself of the kind of person I want to be. We live in a culture that twists kindness into naivety and empathy into weakness. When I see cruelty rewarded, I feel myself drift toward self-protection. I stop making eye contact with people in need. I justify withholding help because “they should have made better choices.” I start treating compassion as something to ration. The poem is my way of interrupting that slide.
These lines are not commandments. They are mirrors. I know how easily I can become suspicious, bitter, and guarded. I know how quickly I turn generosity into a transaction where someone must “deserve it.” Being gracious is not about politeness or pretending everything is fine. It is choosing not to let the world train me to be small and selfish. It is remembering that someone once showed me mercy, and I did not earn it.
I am not good at this. I fail constantly. There are days when I avoid people, when I retreat into comfort, when I am impatient or selfish. But if I only wait to act when it feels easy or convenient, I will never act at all. So I write these reminders—so I can see where I’m shrinking, where I’m hardening, where I’m tempted to become the very person I fear. The poem is not a lesson for others. It is a warning to myself.
