The Coyote's Moon

Beneath a sky of velvet blue,

Where silver stars were scattered wide,

A lonely coyote wandered tiredly through.

Towards wildness he could not hide.

He had heard there was somewhere beyond what he knew,

A place where the broken could finally be true.

They called it Paradise, a beautiful place,

Where nothing was lost, and all sorrow gave way.

But the coyote scoffed, “That cannot be true.

A creature like me could never get through.

I’ve wandered too far, and I’ve wandered too long.

My heart has been wretched, and my footsteps been wrong.”

Then high in the heavens, serene and bright,

The Moon answered softly, “I’ve watched you each night.”

The coyote looked upward. “You’ve watched me?” he said.

“Through every dark valley? Through every road dread?”

“I’ve seen where you stumbled. I’ve seen where you strayed.

I’ve seen every choice and the debts you have paid.

But listen, dear coyote, there’s something you miss:

You think you must change to be worthy of this.”

The coyote grew still as the night breeze passed.

“Then how could I enter? My failures will last.”

The Moon shone brighter across the cold ground.

“Grace is the doorway you’re searching to be found.

Not earned by your running, your doing, your might, 

But given through faith when you step toward the Light.”

“But surely,” he whispered, “I must first become,

The creature I’m supposed to be when I get to the Kingdom.”

“No,” said the Moon. “You have that backward.

Faith is the first step; transformation comes after.

You do not climb heaven by proving your worth.

You cannot purchase eternity here on earth.

The gift is a gift, not a wage to be won.

It comes through believing in what God has done.”

The coyote stared at the moon, shining through the trees,

As something unseen stirred beneath his knees.

For all of his life, he had tried to be strong, 

Afraid if he fell, he would simply be gone.

But beneath his paws, though he could not see,

Were threads woven softly through earth, sky, and tree.

God’s threads were not chains, nor ropes meant to bind,

They were mercy beneath him, though hidden from sight.

Like nets beneath acrobats high in the air,

They waited in silence, already there.

Not forcing him downward, not making him stay, 

Just ready to catch him if he chose their way.

The coyote trembled. “What if I fall?”

The Moon answered, “Then let yourself fall.

You have mistaken surrender for losing your fight.

Sometimes faith is simply releasing the night.

You need not have answers before you believe.

You need only reach out, and be willing to receive.”

So the coyote closed his eyes and began to release.

Dropping the grip he had held on his fear without peace.

And beneath him, the Threads indeed caught his weight,

As if Heaven had known he would arrive at that gate.

He wept, not because he had finally grown,

But because he discovered he wasn't alone.

The change had not started with teeth, claw, or pride.

It started when faith made him willing to confide.

The Moon spoke again, “Now look at you there.

You thought you were falling, but grace met you here.

The old you believed you were doomed to remain,

But faith has unlocked what fear kept in chains.”

The coyote looked down at the paws he had known,

Then looked at the path where his old self had gone.

Something was different, though nothing seemed forced.

A new heart was rising where an old one felt lost.

“For anyone who belongs to Christ,” said the Moon,

“The old has passed away beneath this moon.

The new has begun not because you performed,

But because through faith, you have finally been transformed.”

The coyote breathed deeply and gazed at the sky.

“So Paradise is real?” he asked with wet eyes.

The Moon gave a smile that illuminated the trees.

“More real than the darkness that frightened your knees.

Paradise was never a prize for the strong.

It was home for the hearts that discovered where they belong.”

“But why,” asked the coyote, “did God let me roam?

Why hide all those Threads when I needed a home?”

“Because faith,” said the Moon, “is not seeing each thread.

It is trusting the One who has woven instead.

You cannot see every hand working unseen,

But absence of sight does not mean you its not real.”

The coyote stood quietly beneath the moon’s glow,

No longer demanding to perfectly know.

He finally understood what grace had been saying:

"Faith comes before change; change comes from staying."

And somewhere beyond every star in the night,

Beyond every sorrow, beyond every fight,

A Kingdom was waiting, prepared with such care.

A Paradise thoughtful beyond what seemed fair.

Not merely a place where the weary could rest,

But a home where the wounded could finally be blessed.

A place God had fashioned with wisdom and love,

Where every lost soul could be gathered, together above.

So the coyote walked, not because he was whole,

But because he had finally entrusted and gave faith to his soul.

And beneath every step, though unseen in the night,

God’s Threads held him gently and guided his flight.

For the moon does not shout when it lights up the sky.

It simply remains while the darkness goes drifting on by.

And grace does not bargain, nor ask for a fee.

It whispers, "Come closer. Believe. Always Trust in Me."

And when the coyote looked back at the trail,

He saw every place where the Threads had not failed.

Every stumble. Every tear. Every desperate plea.

Every moment he thought he was falling, God had been underneath.

So he lifted his eyes to the Moon shining bright,

And walked toward the promise concealed in the night.

For Paradise waited beyond what he knew.

And faith was the doorway that carried him through.