Grace—something we don’t deserve but we are given anyway because we are loved. It is a gift given to us at birth for us to open when we are ready. We can put it back in its box and tuck it away for later. We can even forget about it, but our souls will have remembered and one day remind us. If we are ready, we will run to find it, open it with a thankful heart, grab ahold of it and decide to carry it with us always. There are some days we will put it down, hide it away, forget about it—we are too ashamed to pick it up, even look at it—this gift of love. Here, steps in humility—that beautiful humility that holds our hands and helps us reach into our grace box again.
I woke up to a pink sky—lines of faint hues streaking the horizon. I stood at the kitchen sink piled with dishes from the night before because I had been too tired yesterday to wash them for the eighth time. The thoughts started to pile; the laundry, the dog’s stomach—will he pass that diaper he ate last night? Will the surgeon call today to decide if he’ll fix my hernia? Will my sweet middle have a good day today? Will my tender-hearted baby let me put him down? Will my compassionate oldest feel important today? Will my husband know I love him and appreciate him, even though I get so aggravated when he leaves things for me to pick up? Will my chickens be safe? Will I feel satisfied with the school work we get done today? Will I have done enough crafts, read that book to my littles that I have wanted to read every day to them and still haven’t? I need to call the water company because I think I saw a shut-off notice somewhere in this house I try so hard to make a home. I shouldn’t have spent all of that money at Target last night on things we need—what happened to my thrift shopping idea? I really need to find more piano students, get that website design picked out today, work on one more page of this children’s book, put the plastic on that hoop house my husband put together for me on the whim three months ago, and text my neighbor who made it back from her month away to tell her I am so glad they made it back safely. The list goes on and on and on and on.
My attention is brought back to the pink hues in the sky. They’re gone. The sun has risen. So much time has passed since I came downstairs to the kitchen sink and noticed those beautiful hues. Those streaks in the sky were grace—a sign of a new day. Yesterday’s neglected intentions, missed opportunities, less-than-loving responses to things not going my way were laid to rest. It’s a new day. I don’t need to search long for the next sign of grace because my sweet middle child comes down to the kitchen, and with messy curls and wobbly feet looks up with sleepy eyes and ever so lovingly says, “mama?” This is grace again.