Grace

These days, I'm thinking about grace.

I'm working on developing a character named Gras Chwerthin -- grace-to-laugh.

I'm praying for more grace in my life, because I'll often say words fast and sarcastic, or unthinkingly, and not make sure that they all point to him.

I love songs that speak of grace. Right now, especially Lifehouse's Breathing. Last year I had them hung on a wall in my room. This year they just echo in my head.

I'm finding my way back to sanity, again
Though I don't really know what
I am gonna do when I get there
Take a breath and hold on tight
Spin around one more time
And gracefully fall back in the arms of grace

I am hanging on every word you say
And even if you don't want to speak tonight
That's alright, alright with me
'Cause I want nothing more than to sit
Outside Heaven's door and listen to you breathing
Is where I want to be

I am looking past the shadows
Of my mind into the truth and
I'm trying to identify
The voices in my head
God, which one's you?
Let me feel one more time
What it feels like to feel
And break these calluses off me
One more time

'Cause I am hanging on every word you say
And even if you don't want to speak tonight
That's alright, alright with me
'Cause I want nothing more than to sit
Outside your door and listen to you breathing
Is where I want to be

I don't want a thing from you
Bet you're tired of me waiting
For the scraps to fall
Off your table to the ground
I just want to be here now


I wonder, when I realize that I do not know how to accept help offered some times, when I am confronted with the fact that it is necessary and good to accept love as well as give it...

How do I do that?

Is there a way to accept grace gracefully?

Or do we always grab onto it with desperate greedy fingers?

Sometimes it is more easy to live in the grace, to live in a piece of shalom, because it makes sense right then and fits and the world hums softly, strings in tune.

But then when something happens that opens a rift in how things should be, it is like being dragged underwater until I can't breathe, cannot see.

So what then is the proper response to the grace He provides?

How do I model the assured confidence that His grace that His grace has never let go of me, that He always pulls me out of the waters that wash over my head...

...and also the gasping gratitude that clings to the lifesaver, gulps in the oxygen, and falls at the feet of the Rescuer in extravagant worship?

I don't know. I don't have answers to these questions.

So I'll wait. And ask Him more questions.

And tangle my fingers in His grace and goodness.

Beneath Your fingers
The wood glows
Grains grown patterns and light catching in it
For You are the Master Craftsman
And in You
We live
And move
And have our being.

So what of the trees
That once grew green
And provided sanctuary
For those who hid in their leaves?
What when the storm came
And lightening struck
And all was left in shattered
Blackened
Charred
Ruin?

We still seek Your hands
With the thunder and wind
To come searching through
And take out Your tools
With Your drawn-out plans
To rebuild us again.

So what of the wood
When those You entrusted
With delicate tools
Grow careless and harsh?
What when they pound
And scar through the grains
And only
Gashes
Are left?

We come back to You
The One who first knew
And run to Your arms
And cry out for healing
That Your word would sink in
And close up the broken.
That the jagged ends
Would not be left splintering sharp.

So what of the dust
That has spilled from the gouges
Covering the surface
On which we live?
What when our hearts
Crumble in pieces
Can we say
Father
Forgive?

We stare in Your eyes
And find the reflection
Mixed with Your dreams
Of who You have made us
And it is more
And it is good.

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