Some days, we just don't want to hear of "heavenly things," though!If I have told you earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you heavenly things?
Myself included.
But grace? This I know.
Some days, grace is exposing yourself enough that you get your leg caught in the divine "trap" and your flaws are exposed, the ill in your soul is made visible for all to see. There you are. Naked. Foolish. Pathetic. Beyond hope.
And you shrink as you wait for the blow to fall - and nail you, crush your spirit, and send you back to the little hole you'd made to hide your dirty, little, worthless face in.
But then your startled eyes fly open because none of that happens. You're faced with an unmistakably calm demeanour, and an "I'm so sorry" or an "I love you."
And suddenly something is shifted; everything is changed; you taste it: you are loved.
You are loved. This I know.
_____________________________
My story:
About three years ago, I had a big move. Moves are difficult. Lots of people shut down after a major move, it seems. Lots of women, at least. For months, I wandered around the house, doing precious little, mind boggled because I couldn't do anything right. With always the nagging question: "What's WRONG with me?"
Then I read about "fear of ones overstrict, critical conscience," a fear "…actually experienced as guilt," because "People who have an overstrict, critical conscience will condemn themselves for things God himself doesn't condemn them for."
Wait.
What if "the problem with me" wasn't about all these little piddling weaknesses where I was failing to measure up?
What if it was actually this cruel person in my soul, poised to lash out at me inordinately each time I stumbled?
Somewhere in there, I even cried.
Now I had an answer.
Or so I thought.
After all, I knew the problem.
Actually, sometimes knowing the problem only makes it worse.
For awhile.
Then one day we were driving to a tutoring appointment. We were running late; I'd been avoiding going, or avoiding getting ready to go, or avoiding mentioning that we needed to go.
I was driving; I was in the process of learning how to drive for the first time as an adult.
I ran a red light.
I screeched "AAaah!" and cringed as my husband reacted reflexively.
I pushed the pedal and finished zooming through.
I had just endangered the lives of my husband, and the life of my innocent one-year-old child in the back seat.
Not to mention the lives of people who I didn't even know.
I had just done this: I WAS undoubtedly "THAT kind of person."
I braced myself and waited for the wave of guilt and shame to crash over me.
I listened.
Nothing.
I flicked my eyes furtively over to my husband: "What? Why didn't you say anything-- you know what I just did!"
Calmly: "I figured you felt bad enough already."
A few seconds later, I realized what I was feeling - or what I WASN'T feeling.
The absence of wave. It wasn't crashing down onto my head, burying me, overwhelming me; it wasn't there at all. Such a strange sensation.
A few weeks ago, I talked to my mother-in-law. She talked about those times when we get paralyzed from doing the things we need to. You know the kind: "you don't feel like you can cook supper, or like you can pick up the phone, talk to anyone, drive a car."
Of course I knew, but with one exception: driving.
Grace is powerful.
Wonder of wonders that it can even be mediated by humans.
)
