being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus
Tag Archives: Grace
August 31, 2011Posted by on
This post is a response to the Never Beyond poster series from People of the Second Chance. The question: Who would you give a second chance?
kind of really completely incredulously laughed out loud when I saw the People of the Second Chance poster this week.
to the delight of my husband I might need to watch the Star Wars episodes again, but a quick trip to IMDb gave me a good refresher on this villain’s history (check out the link for a brief synopsis if you haven’t seen the movies, which begs the question “Where have you been the last three and a half decades?”).
But, like most conversations that People of the Second Chance start, this one got me thinking. And while I feel a little silly talking about a character like he’s a real person, I’m going to have to for the sake of this discussion of grace.
Darth Vader wasn’t always a self-assured bad guy (of course, it took George Lucus sixteen years to make us privy to that information, but I digress). He used to be sweet, enslaved, Anakin Skywalker. From a young age, he was told he was destined for greatness. His destiny plotted over and determined by those who wanted to use him for his supposed power. He was a victim to political games. Though a Jedi, he still was captive to the human heart. He knew loss, he knew love, he knew greed and power. He felt betrayal, even if it wasn’t always real. Eventually, his anger and bitterness overwhelmed him and turned him into a ruthless, cold-hearted killer. Instead of fighting for good, he turns to the dark side and becomes its champion. Eventually he dies in a battle to the death with his son. At the end of it all, he asks to be un-masked and receives redemption when son and father encounter each other face to face for the first time.
Ahem. Give me a second as I wash the nerdiness from my hands. Alright. Commencing grace discussion in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .
For whatever reason, when I think about Darth Vader, I always remember the shriveled old man under the mask. I assume this is because I was very young when the first movies came out. When I saw this part of the movie, I realized that he was just a man, and not really all that scary.
Aren’t we all a little bit like Darth Vader?
No, not the ruthless-I-wear-a-scary-black-plastic-helmet-mask-and-can-and-will-kill-you-with-a-thought Vader.
I’m talking about the please-take-off-this-mask-and-see-me-for-who-I-really-am Vader.
There is a longing in all of us to be known. But, for whatever reason, we think that’s impossible. Or at least we act like it is.
We wear masks all day long, no matter how worn they are, no matter how cracked they are. We think people can’t see through them. No, we HOPE that people can’t see through them.
Conversely, we are just as content to continue looking at others’ masks without really expecting to see the real person behind them. Whether we only see the mask presented to us and take it as real OR we see the broken, cracked, faded mask and choose NOT to see what’s behind it, we humans sure like our masks. And we don’t usually wear just one. We have one for our families, one for our co-workers, one for our friends, one for the people at church. We have A LOT of masks.
Every night we take off our masks and face ourselves in the mirror. We wonder, for a brief second, what people would think if they could see the real you staring back at them.
“No!” we tell ourselves. “It’s too shameful. Too scary. Mustn’t let them see the real me. They’d hate me. They would never believe the things I’ve done, what I’ve said, how I’ve acted. Every bad thought, every insecurity, every ugly thought, every scar must continue to stay hidden.”
We look at our worn masks, some chipped by stones thrown at us. Others are just old from wear. They’re cracked and the paint is chipping. We tell ourselves that our masks are enough. We’ll put them away for the night, fall into bed from exhaustion of juggling all our masks, and then pick them up again to put them on in the morning.
We’re scared that if people really knew us, if they really saw who we are, they’d reject us.
Being transparent is a weakness because being transparent shows the weaknesses.
But aren’t you tired of fighting? Aren’t all those masks you’re carrying heavy? Have you traded the real you for an inaccurate imitation?
Aren’t you peeking through the cracks of your masks mentally begging the person on the other side to see you, the real you – the broken, needs forgiveness, longs for authenticity, overwhelmed-and-drowning-in-a-fallen-world you?
I’m going to tell you a little secret:
Grace makes un-masking possible. It makes it bearable. It even makes us more human.
When we accept grace from God, we’re also required to turn around and generously give it.
Suddenly, masks are silly.
When you bring grace into play, we’re all equal. We’re all the same. We’re all in desperate need of it.
Your scars, my cuts, his bruises, the bags under her eyes from endless nights of crying all become completely normal. We’re all so very broken.
But we’re all so very within reach of redemption.
Un-masking is difficult at first. Because sometimes, people do reject you. Sometimes, the other person refuses to let go of his or her mask.
But my experience has been that taking off the mask, or refusing to put the mask on in the first place, makes way for the most incredible human relationships.
I have found that when I lay it all on the floor, when I show off all the imperfections that are me, people suddenly feel at ease.
They don’t feel like they have to keep holding up that mask. They are willing to share some of their imperfections. They want to be real.
It’s what I long for, people.
None of us are perfect. Masks are unnecessary. I don’t want your mask. I want the real you.
The raw-bruised and battered by the world-imperfect-tossed out-despised by men-accepted by Christ-grace covered you.
So, let’s not wait like Vader until our dying breath to take off our masks.
Let’s step out into the light. Let’s expose our true selves. Let’s know and be known. Not just to God, but to each other too.
August 24, 2011Posted by on
This post is a response to the Never Beyond poster series from People of the Second Chance. The question: Who would you give a second chance?
Christians LOVE the parable about the prodigal son and for good reason. It’s an example of God’s extravagant grace toward us.
Even if we don’t realize all the cultural implications of Jesus’ day in the parable, we love thinking about how God runs to us and lavishes us with his love.
Stop for second and take a minute to read Luke 15:11-32.
Often times, we identify quite easily with the son who has rudely asked for, received and squandered his inheritance. The bitter taste of the world and fair-weather friends still lingers on our tongues. We can relate to his being in the pit of pigs, wondering if he even has a chance to go home and be a servant for his father. We rejoice in the thought of the son’s repentance. We are thankful to know that God loves us as much as the father loved his son.
It makes us feel good. It makes us feel loved. It makes us feel wanted.
But there’s more to the parable. The prodigal is not the only son. There’s another son. A more responsible, diligent, faithful son.
This son, the eldest, has dutifully obeyed and followed his father. He has done all that he was supposed to do as a son. He’s worked hard and taken care of the family business. He’s stayed with his aging father. He’s been the good son.
But then his black sheep brother returns. Repentant.
And the father throws him an extravagant, lavish party to celebrate his return.
The older brother is angry. He complains. He’s bitter. He doesn’t understand why this terrible son receives such a compassionate and gracious reception. He refuses to embrace his brother as the father does. He refuses to come inside to join the party.
The father, full of love, says to him, “‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.” (Luke 15:31-32)
The parable begs for an ending. We don’t know if the older brother decided to join the celebration or if he decided to stay outside and wallow in his bitterness.
You know him, right? If you’re a child of the 80s like me (man, I’m getting old), you probably remember him as a boxing legend. You may have played Mike Tyson’s Punch Out on the old school Nintendo system. You might also remember him as a really bad guy. He has a pretty long rap sheet. I won’t list it here. But do an internet search and you’ll find a myriad of websites that list his sins for all the world to see.
Just like the younger brother, he lived in excess. He partied hard. He was (and still is) famous. He was important by the world’s standards. He’s probably tasted all the world has to offer. The people who enjoyed his success dropped him when things got bad. He hit rock bottom and the entire world got ringside seats to watch his downfall. When he fell, he fell hard. When he fell, those who claimed to love him began to hate him. Everyone believed he got what he deserved, including me.
I would imagine that it’s been pretty lonely for Mike Tyson.
On Sunday evening, Mike Tyson tweeted this:
I don’t claim to know Mike Tyson’s heart. What I do know is that repentant sinners receive lavish love from God the father. If Mike Tyson has God like he says, if he has come to his senses, if he has repented – then God the Father ran with open arms to validate him as son. He gave him a robe. He gave him shoes. HE WAS FORGIVEN. Mike Tyson received the same measure of grace that all the rest of us prodigals have (in case you were wondering, that’s an overabundance, never-ending, gushing with loving kindness, eternity’s worth of grace).
Forget about Mike Tyson for a second. What about the people in your life? You know, that person you can’t stand at work? The mother in play group who is ALWAYS bragging about her kids and putting down your parenting styles? Your black sheep relative who everyone in the family hopes can’t make it to the family gathering? Your neighbor whose dog keeps tearing up your flower bed? What about those people? You might be the prodigal’s brother if the thought of God running to them (like he did you) to lavish his love upon them makes your stomach turn. But the truth is that the fountain of grace from which YOU and I drink is the same fountain of grace offered to them.
When that truth sinks into our thick skulls and hard hearts, do we want to be like the older brother? If that person we despise comes repentant before the cross, are we going to complain and argue and try to explain to God why someone like Mike Tyson (or our co-worker, peer, relative, neighbor) shouldn’t receive a party and someone like us should? Are we going to really believe that our duty to God and all the “good” stuff we’ve done for God gives us more merit? That somehow we deserve more because we think we made better choices for ourselves?
When someone else is the prodigal, especially if it’s someone we don’t particularly like, we have a choice. We can either pout outside the house sipping from the cup of bitterness OR we can rejoice, go inside, and party it up because “he was dead, but now he’s alive. He was lost, but now is found.”
Which will you choose?
If you want to hear the sermon that inspired me this week and helped me write this post, click here. Just want to send a thanks to my pastor Mark Cary for sharing these words of wisdom.
August 19, 2011Posted by on
All week long I’ve been posting about grace, forgiveness, and second chances – all inspired by the Never Beyond Poster series initiated by People of the Second Chance.
On Tuesday I wrote about Absent Parents.
On Wednesday, I wrote about Forgiving the Ex-Boyfriend.
On Thursday, I wrote about Giving myself second chances.
And today, I’m posting my first vlog (video blog). It’s my first, so be gracious.
AND . . .
After making my video today, I found out that they are also on Pinterest. So, check them out there too.
I really look forward to taking this journey and I hope you are too.
August 17, 2011Posted by on
Today’s post is a continuation of the beginning of the Never Beyond series inspired and encouraged by People of the Second Chance.
Yesterday I wrote about Casey Anthony and Forgiving absent parents. If you missed it, click here to read it.
This post is a response to the Never Beyond poster series from People of the Second Chance. The question: Who would you forgive?
All week I’m posting on grace, forgiveness, and second chances.
There’s this guy I dated. A long time ago. Before my husband. Before I was really a woman. Before everything changed.
I think that he liked me. Before I got all crazy girlfriend-ish.
He may have even loved me a little bit. I’m just not sure that it was the right kind of love.
And he took a lot from me. He only took it, though, because I gave it.
The kicker is that about three months into the relationship, I knew it wasn’t right. I knew in my heart of hearts that he wasn’t for me. Forget the whole “The One” thing. We just were not supposed to be together. Period.
But I thought I could change things. I basically told God that he didn’t know what he was talking about and I was going to do what I was going to do. That was my first act of disobedience.
Then a few months later, I felt him slipping away. And I really, really liked this guy. And I really, really wanted him to like me back.
So, I gave him the one thing I hadn’t given him yet.
I gave him all of me. More disobedience.
He stuck around for awhile. Because it was easy to get what he wanted.
We had a few good times, we had a few bad times. We argued a lot. We were on-again-off-again for awhile. I’d always initiate a break up because it was my way of seeing how serious he was. But we’d always get back together.
Because I had given him all of me, because I had led myself to believe that I was going to marry him (whether he wanted to marry me or not), I expected that he give all of himself to me too. I started to get insanely jealous. I was jealous of his friends. I was jealous of his time. I was jealous of everything that he was ever involved with. The disobedience continued.
But, eventually, he got bored. Eventually, my jealousy was too much drama for him. Eventually, he decided that I wasn’t enough.
One day, he dropped me. He told me that he didn’t love me anymore. He let me go.
I was devastated. I was disappointed in myself. I was ashamed.
I still remember sitting on the floor sobbing. I don’t think I was sobbing for having lost him. I think I was sobbing for having lost myself. For having let myself go so far off the path I knew to be right to pursue a lie.
I felt like a shattered mirror, like I couldn’t even recognize myself in the broken shards of glass; the reflection was not who I ever expected or wanted to be.
It was my first rock-bottom.
It was the first time I realized that in my own strength, I have NOTHING to offer God.
It was the first time I realized that a broken heart and contrite spirit were the ONLY offerings I could bring.
It was the first time I had to truly forgive someone who hurt me deeply.
It hurt for a very long time. In some ways, I’ll always be wounded from that relationship. But I forgave him.
Fast Forward 15+ years later. I’m such a different person from the girl sitting on the floor sobbing for her lost identity.
It’s amazing to see what God does when you bring sin to light.
Grace is so peculiar like that.
One of my favorite passages is John 3:19-21:
This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but men loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his deeds will be exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what he has done has been done through God.”
When we come out from behind the shadows, from the darkness that is so inherently our nature, when we are honest with ourselves and each other about our sin, amazing things happen.
We learn that we’re not alone. We realize that we’re pretty much all alike, that without Christ’s work on the cross, we are nothing.
When we come into the light, when we embrace truth, we can start to heal. We can start to love. We can start to forgive each other.
I still try to hide in the shadows every once in awhile. It’s where I was born and it’s difficult to shake off the old.
But being Christ’s means I’m always being pulled back into the light. The truth about me becomes quite obvious.
I don’t have it together. I’ve made many, many mistakes. I don’t love like I’m supposed to. I hold onto grudges. I’m prideful, judgmental, and arrogant. I lie and cheat. I don’t honor my parents like I should. I envy my fellow man almost every day. I am a complete and utter failure.
But I belong to Christ. And gosh darnit, he’s going to keep working on me. He’s going to keep pulling me out into the light.
In the light, my imperfections are quite apparent. But, just like a lump of clay on the potter’s wheel, he molds and shapes and makes me into vessel of his love and mercy and grace.
Day by day I’m learning to be more comfortable in the light. I’m learning that imperfections = beauty, when they are held in God’s hands.
August 16, 2011Posted by on
This post is a response to the Never Beyond poster series from People of the Second Chance. The question: Who would you forgive?
All week I’m posting on forgiveness, grace, and second chances. Join me?
If you don’t know who she is, I’d be surprised. Her trial was one of the most highly televised trials in our country’s history. Twitter and Facebook allowed for to-the-minute updates about testimonies, and ultimately her verdict. I barely followed the trial. I was on vacation when I heard she was not guilty. BUT I heard about her. I knew the gist of the case. I understood why people were so angry when she received a verdict of NOT GUILTY.
The trial revolved around her lying, her excessive partying, the absence of remorse that her daughter was missing, and then evidence showing that she killed her own child.
The prosecution could not prove to a jury that she did it beyond a shadow of a doubt.
So, today, she walks free.
A lot of people are mad about that.
When I consider Casey Anthony, grace, and second chances, I’m forced to reconcile my opinions about absent parents.
You know, the ones who left. The ones who checked out emotionally. The ones who’ve shrugged their responsibilities and expected someone else to pick up the slack. Even the one who the entire world just “knows” killed her own daughter.
I believe parenting is one of the highest responsibilities we as humans can have. We are supposed to love our children. Protect them. Give them the best that we can give. I take my responsibility very seriously.
I’ve known a few absent parents in my day. I don’t like them.
If you know me at all, if you’ve spent any time with me fact to face, you know about one in particular. You know how I feel about her, about how she acts, about what she did, about who she is.
If you don’t know me personally, let’s just say that my opinion of this particular person is low. I’ve yelled at her like I’ve never yelled at another human being. I’ve said things to her and about her I never thought I would say. I find her to be the worst brand of parent. I have placed at the same level others have placed Casey Anthony. Without classifying it as such, I’d say that if I were to hate another person, how I feel about her is as close to hate as I can get.
Those are not words of a person redeemed by grace.
The truth is that a person who embraces grace should never feel that way about another human being. A person who embraces grace loves. A person who embraces grace forgives.
But for this particular woman, I’ve drawn the line in the sand. I’ve put her into a box labeled, “unforgivable” thrown it on some random storage shelf in the back of my mind and tried to forget all the horrible things that transpired in our dealings with each other.
I put her in that box because it’s easier to focus on all her faults than to accept my own blame. It’s easier to focus on how much I think of the awful things she did than to own up to my own sin. It’s easier to nitpick at all her splinters and attempt to hold them up to my plank and say, “See! She’s so much worse than I am.”
But when I think about People of the Second Chance, when I think about Never Beyond, when I think about Casey Anthony, I’m wondering if it’s time to get that box back out, sort through every single heart-wrenching reality, accept what happened, forgive her, forgive myself, and move on.
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do that. I’m still very mad and hurt by everything that happened.
I still wear it on my sleeve like a combat badge because I want the world to see how I was wounded in the battle, but I still survived the war.
I want people to agree with me, to tell me I’m in the right, that it’s ok to still be mad.
I want to give up on this woman who I consider to be as bad as everyone thinks Casey Anthony is.
But that’s not what grace looks like, does it?
God hasn’t given up on me. God hasn’t given up on Casey Anthony. And God hasn’t given up on the woman at whom I can’t seem to stop pointing my finger.
I have held onto this anger and it has become a millstone around my neck. I’ve fallen further and further into the depths of my own self-righteousness. I’m drowning myself in my own bitterness and self-pity. To hold on to this is to dig my own grave.
My duty isn’t to judge and evaluate every single action, weighing it against some high moral code that I myself can’t even reach. My job, no my privilege, is to forgive. Not once. Not twice. But seventy time seven. To remember what happened, to confess it, to lay it down at the cross, and realize that everything that happened is cancelled debt.
Cancelled debt. Paid for. Made new. Whole. Restored. Reconciled. Renewed. Holy and blameless in His sight.
That’s what forgiveness looks like. That’s what grace makes us.
Both of us.
Her AND Me.
Who is your unforgivable person? What would it look like if you forgave?
August 15, 2011Posted by on
People of the second chance (@POTSC on twitter) are running a poster series called Never Beyond. It will include 25 posters of well-known, famous bad guys – people who have hurt society. I’m anxious to see the posters that will eventually become a touring art exhibit. I think it will be quite thought-provoking.
It’s making me think about second chances. It’s making me wonder about the lines I’ve drawn. It’s making me want to spend this week contemplating and praying about what areas in my heart need grace and change.
It’s making me want to commit to writing a post each day for the next four days about different people in my life who need the grace I have received in abundance, the people from whom I’m withholding it.
Because being a Christian is all about second (and third and fourth and fifth) chances, renewal, reconciliation and rebirth.
Being a Christian is all about grace. Radical, mind-changing, heart-changing, life-giving GRACE.
Will you join People of the Second Chance and me this week? Think with me. Pray with me. Let’s see if we can become people who really do believe in second chances.
November 14, 2010Posted by on
It was kind of messy. And now I’m a mess. Because I keep wanting to go back.
But nothing’s a secret to you.
You see the most secret places of my heart. You have for years, even if I have tried shoving all my messes into them and closed the doors to hide them.
But you’ve been opening those doors. All the messes are spilling out onto the floor. And you’re making me look at the pile of crap on the floor, the things I’ve tried to hide, tried to ignore, tried to forget. A bunch of broken, shattered, worthless vessels.
And those vessels won’t hold anything. The load of my sin and the world has cracked them to pieces and they’re useless. I’ve been using them to collect putrid water from the world’s cisterns, thinking it would quench my thirst. Those vessels never held anything of value or worth. Or satisfaction.
My wretched soul cries out for your mercy, your compassion, your grace, your intervention. Because I can not do it myself.
Give me strength to not grasp for them again. Keep me from trying to swim in after them, and in doing so, drown in the sea that is the broken world in which I live.
Make me a vessel. Let me go to the spring of Living Water and be filled.
And satisfy me completely. Let me feast on your Word. Let me never thirst again.
Thank you for loving me enough to discipline me. Thank you for loving me enough to make me stare my sin in the face and confront what has been eating away at my soul. And thank you for the grace you give, that has already overcome.
Jeremiah 2:13: My people have committed two sins: They have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.
Psalm 90:8: You have set our iniquities before you, our secret sins in the light of your presence.
Isaiah 30:1, 12-15, 18-22 : (1) “Woe to the obstinate children,” declares the LORD, “to those who carry out plans that are not mine, forming an alliance, but not by my Spirit, heaping sin upon sin;
(12-15) Therefore this is what the Holy One of Israel says: “Because you have rejected this message, relied on oppression and depended on deceit, this sin will become for you like a high wall, cracked and bulging, that collapses suddenly, in an instant. It will break in pieces like pottery, shattered so mercilessly that among its pieces not a fragment will be found for taking coals from a hearth or scooping water out of a cistern.”
This is what the Sovereign LORD, the Holy One of Israel, says: “In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength,
(18-22) Yet the LORD longs to be gracious to you; therefore he will rise up to show you compassion. For the LORD is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for him! People of Zion, who live in Jerusalem, you will weep no more. How gracious he will be when you cry for help! As soon as he hears, he will answer you. Although the Lord gives you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, your teachers will be hidden no more; with your own eyes you will see them. Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.” Then you will desecrate your idols overlaid with silver and your images covered with gold; you will throw them away like a menstrual cloth and say to them, “Away with you!”
November 10, 2010Posted by on
I hesitate to write this because it’s not pretty. It’s downright ugly and muddy. But it’s real. And I need to write it because I need to hear it. Maybe someone else does too.
I’m having a less than stellar parenting
There are a lot of changes going on inside my heart right now. I began a Bible study that focuses on a certain area of my life with which I struggle, a lot. And while I’m finding it encouraging, I’m also finding sin’s greasy fingerprints on every area of my heart.
And as I deal seriously with one sin in my life (or rather, allow the Lord to have access to that part of my heart that I’ve tried to hide from him for so long), I find others grasping to take its place.
Like anger. I’ve been angry this week. I’m angry that I’ve been so stupid and run to all the wrong places to try to resolve this sin in the past. I’m frustrated that I’ve lost so much of myself to it. I’m mad that I’ve been so blind for so long.
But this anger comes out at every little annoyance. And when you live in a house with three little girls, there are many little annoyances. Things have been said that should never have been said in tones that should never come to the surface.
I’m finding myself apologizing to my little ones for losing my temper, asking for their forgiveness. And they do forgive their wretched mama. Their hugs and kisses and I love yous are healing, salves for my soul. May the Lord bless their forgiving and resilient little hearts.
I keep hearing the phrase in my head, purposeful parenting. I keep thinking of all the Type-A’s I know out there who seem to be purposefully parenting their little blessings and doing an excellent job at it. I wonder why I can’t seem to follow suit.
Some Most days, I feel so behind all the time. There’s always something to be done and not enough time to do it all. Some Most days, my children find themselves at the end of my priority list.
And I’m wondering why. I’m wondering why my little blessings from God get my worst when they should be receiving my best. It’s not fair to them. It’s not fair to me. We are all being robbed of the joy of the mother/daughter relationship. I’m being robbed of the joy that comes from doing the
job ministry God has given to me.
People, I NEVER do things perfectly. NEVER. And when I do things decently, it’s only by the grace of God.
About a month ago, something my pastor said during the sermon really stuck with me. He was talking about how God gives us grace to deal with conflicts. That he protects us in the moment. He quoted 1 Peter 1:3-5:
“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to His great mercy has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to obtain an inheritance which is imperishable and undefiled and will NOT fade away, reserved in Heaven for you, who are protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.” (NASB)
And so I wrote it down. And then I taped it to my cabinet.
And I put my new motto above it: Grace for this moment; Grace for eternity.
Isn’t that what life for a believer really is? Moment after moment after moment, covered in grace. Sometimes we focus on what’s to come and forget that right now is the foundation for what’s to come. Life, lived out in faith, can come only to the conclusion that it is sustained by grace.
My sister sang “In Christ Alone” at her church this weekend. It’s one of my favorite songs. And one that helps me to remember that “sin’s curse has lost its grip on me.” Click on the link and listen. The song is powerful and encouraging, especially when you have days like I’ve had today . . . the days that make you feel less than stellar.
It doesn’t matter the situation. It doesn’t matter the person. It doesn’t matter the conflict. It doesn’t matter the circumstances surrounding whatever “it” is. It’s all covered by grace. Each moment that we live, each moment that has already passed us by. Covered. By Grace.
I’m not a perfect person. I’m not a perfect parent. But my best and my worst are covered by grace. YOUR best and YOUR worst are covered by grace. I’m going to rest in that today. And tomorrow. And the next day. And for eternity. I hope you’ll join me.