Grace is something that is hard to explain isn’t it? It’s kind of the glue, and kind of the song, and kind of the fragrance, and somehow, most likely, the plot in the story of all we see and experience.
Grace is the mysterious space between you and I and yet it is the thing in the space that connects you and I.
Grace whispers to us, grace welcomes us, and grace will only not be found when we’re preoccupied with something else ourselves. When we’re numb it can’t be felt. When we’re blind it can’t be seen.
It’s the previews of what’s to come, the show that’s in the here and now, and the word in parentheses after every name in the credits.
Quoting Thomas Merton, grace is like art in that it “enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” It was in the breeze this morning that wrapped around my skin and took me somewhere else for a moment. It was in the voicemail I wish I didn’t have to deal with today. And it was in the caffeinated, brewed algorithm I call ‘my coffee’. Its’ presence doesn’t change from the highs to the lows or from the majestic to the mundane.
And so our whimsical response is threefold: give it, share it, and enjoy it. The challenge is to not spill it or hoard it. There’s always more, but it need not be wasted or pocketed.
Yes, it’s amazing. But the bigger YES is that it’s available you, to me, and everyone with a tick-tock in their chest.
The shelf life of grace is just for the moment.
And isn’t that all we have?
And if the moment is all we have, could it be that grace is that all we need?