I thought grace too insubstantial to really resurrect the sinner. Grace seemed the scarcest of things. The gossamer kind of covering that never really got much done but looked pretty in the right light. It was the forgiver of dark night’s confession and the amnesia card played so God would forget all the terrible things we do and think and are. I hoped it would erase the old things but I never imagined it would redeem them.
I believed we started with grace, it was essentially the giant eraser zigzagging across the dirty board, sending plumes of our old life up in smoky clouds. We’d give them a good whack shaking off the scratchings and scribbles of our pre-saved lives. But then it was up to us to rewrite the lessons in hand-lettered chalk drawings with laurel leafs and curly q’s.
But the old clings. I’d find myself with chalk dust in my hair and smeared across my brow as I practiced holding my hand steady and mastering the grand swoop of a new life. Trying to make it pinnable and entry hall worthy.
We all resist grace, because grace transforms and transformation always means death and rebirth. And death and life always ache with longing.
We are new creatures with wobbly legs and a fractured gait. We stumble around milk-drunk on the Word and cry with growing pains as our limbs stretch out into the world. And oh how we break. I wish it stopped when we are born new but no, the brokenness comes more now.
Because grace isn’t the eraser making all things vanish.
Grace is the glue that binds us to God. That tells us nothing can separate us. And anyone with sticky fingers and gooey hands knows it’s a great wide mess when it spills into the cracks. It’s not pretty or clean. It flows and covers everything, it gets everywhere. It gushes too fast and pools around our most broken parts and we may swipe at it with grubby fingers but it’s the sticky grace that’s hard to shake.
Grace is functional and made for use. We pause in the reparation, the binding of broken things. To hold still the pieces, an offering to God that’s seen in the knowing. To let that grace glue work the brokenness into wholeness.
It doesn’t just sweep away past things, it makes all things new.
On Fridays we write. And sometimes it goes all over the place and we let it. We get messy and real and sometimes we cry and sometimes we laugh but we get it done week after week. We show up and write free. Five minutes on one prompt: this week is : Glue. We silence the critic and the audience, we make peace with our mistakes and our word tense that goes in and out when we type fast. We don’t overthink or edit or make a fuss. We just believe words spilled are worth something even if they come out like madness. Join us? We’re at Lisa Jo’s, and we need your story.