I find myself pondering grace on this most solemn of days. I know I have written words on the subject before, but this word, this state of being, draws me into its possibilities. Often I think about what grace is not, yet that isn’t grace.
So…what is grace?
It is being there for a friend in her pain or grief or loneliness.
Grace is understanding.
It is kindness, a smile, a compliment.
Grace is letting go of past resentments, of anger, of mistakes made.
It is sitting in silence.
Grace is seeing people, moving in closer.
It is a presence. It is humility. It is acceptance over judgement.
Grace is a rainbow, a wash of colors across a sky as the sun peeks out after a storm.
It is always learning, always opening a new page, always seeing the potential.
Grace is seeing our differences as the beautiful wonders they are.
Grace swirls around as I stumble. It ignores my clumsiness and awkward actions. It is there, waiting as I trip over my anger, my envy, my stubbornness, my overblown ego. It finds me, even when I am not looking.
Grace is the truth. Grace is an open door. Grace is a seat at the table. Grace is thank you.
Grace is admitting I have been wrong, and offering ways to mend it. Saying, “I’m sorry. What can I do to fix it?”
Grace is acknowledging my brokenness, my scars. Seeing the beauty in the cracks. As Leonard Cohen wrote, “It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.”
Grace is my husband’s hand in mine…the sound of our grandchildren’s voices…a phone call or text from one of our adult children, just wanting to catch up…spending time with dear friends, swapping stories and listening to all of our joys and heartaches…sitting on our front porch swing, grateful for the peace it brings.
It is pie
and coffee with cream
and grilled cheese sandwiches
and warm chocolate chip cookies.
It is hanging onto hope when all is lost.
It is love.