Category Archives: grace

the amazing grace of God’s people

“It’s the people . . . all about the people for me. They are where I find God.”

So I told my new friend from the 7th year, both of us participants in Alicia Chole’s Leadership Investment Intensive. Half-way between her house and mine rests Bellamy Manor and Gardens – a home with a 140 year history, beautifully restored and generously shared with patrons desiring a peaceful getaway. We were two of them, my friend and me. I can’t take credit for the idea; I can only take credit for taking her up on the idea. I’m so glad I did. In doing so, I didn’t just find another friend, I found Jesus . . . in her. A little peace for my journey.

Funny thing, this amazing grace. It stretches some 2000 years down through the landscape of history to unite the lives of those whose hearts are set on holy pilgrimage. My friend and I were strangers to one another prior to 2013, living differently and apart; yet because of that one single moment on a hillside named Calvary, we now live similarly and together, united under the single banner of grace. It doesn’t get more amazing than this.

Certainly, some people find God in the world around them. In a garden or on a seashore. In the mountains and in spring bloom. In the bumping of clouds up above and in the shafts of sunlight that intermittently break through. At a riverbank. In a field of red poppies. A soaring eagle overhead. A fragile chrysalis delicately dangling on tree limb.

A crackling fire.

An afternoon tea.

A room with a view.

All of these, noteworthy nods from God. But for me, these are not where I find him most available, most readily seen. For me, God is found in his people—the walking, living, breathing door-keepers of the kingdom. Those who make gracious entryways for others to step over the threshold from flesh to faith, from mystery to revelation. Those torchbearers who hold God’s light in their eyes and who cast the long shadow of grace onto all who risk standing in mercy’s pathway. They are the eternal pulse of Father God, and in their presence I am reminded that I am not alone. That I am not forgotten. That I am but one amidst a great cloud of witnesses whose knees bow only to the King and whose eyes are fixed on the unseen, counted, and generously collected treasures of the kingdom.

Sister pilgrims. Easter pilgrims. This is what we are. This is who we must be. This is how we should live. In doing so, the collective grace of Calvary continues to stretch outward and carries on the amazing work of the cross.

I’m so honored to have stood in my new friend’s shadow in recent days. She’s a beautiful release of God’s love in this world. I’m so honored to stand in yours as well, friends. You cast the long shadow of grace over my heart; you are where I find God.

Blessed walk to the cross and beyond this week. I’ll meet you on the road, just clear of the tomb. We are not a people without hope. Let us march on accordingly. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

 

the kingdom classroom

I don’t know why God trusts me with so much . . . why he would allow me the privilege of sacred participation, this giving and extending of his kingdom to others. So very often, I feel ill-equipped and under- qualified—rough around the edges, frayed ends, frazzled thoughts. This is who I am most days, a tangled mess but for the beautiful grace of Jesus who lovingly and willingly applies himself to my untangling until the knots are free.

God doesn’t walk away mid-process. He’s a finisher. He keeps stretching me, moving me, challenging me, and changing me from the inside out. I offer him my consent, because I know there’s work to be done and because, without the Lord’s prod, there’s no soul gain; just stagnation, just plowing up that same old piece of ground and patch of soil that’s been tread upon again and again by my stubborn inability to fix myself.

Will we ever get to the end of this, Lord, this hard work of grace?

I can no longer pretend that it’s not hard. Grace is free and comes swiftly to our aid, but grace is also a meddler. Grace won’t leave us alone; it requires a response—a holy, sacred “Yes” to previously spoken “Nos”.

Full grace equals full change; full conversion; fully and willingly broken open and spilled out so that God has the opportunity to pour into our earthen vessels his holiness, his revisions, and his version of who we are. We are kingdom carriers and kingdom dispensers. To carry less and to give less is to betray our King.

Oh to wake up to our privilege and to our responsibility therein!

The hard work of grace. The good work of grace. My allegiance is fixed to the cross, and my heart is pledged to the kingdom road. Accordingly, I’ll keep moving forward, tethered to the expectation that what I currently cannot see growing in me has already been seen by God.

Indeed, I don’t know why God trusts me with so much; I only believe this to be true . . . that he does, in fact, trust me with the story of grace. And even when his “much” has seemed too much for me, his grace has always been sufficient to move me beyond my limitations in order to allow me a moment or two of kingdom influence. I don’t need to know the results of those moments; I just need to stay obedient to his call.

May the God who created the kingdom, the Christ who brought the kingdom to earth, and the Holy Spirit who sustains the kingdom in each one of us, strengthen you, straighten you, and empower you to spend your kingdom inheritance on those who’ve yet to take hold of their royal privilege. Amen.

 

Spilt Milk and Grace . . .

If I could take back the last thirty minutes of my life and live them over, I would.

I wouldn’t have yelled at my daughter for spilling the milk in the utensil drawer. Instead, I would have offered her some grace and some tips on cleaning up the mess. I blew it, and the only excuse I have to offer up for my poorly chosen response is my carnality—my fleshly resistance to the work of the cross. And really, that isn’t much of an excuse. I know better.

Haven’t I spent a lifetime in the Word of God and submitted my heart to the refining fires of the Holy Spirit’s purification? No need to answer. I know the answer. “Yes” and “Apparently not enough.” When will I learn? When will holiness take hold? When will I stop doing what I don’t want to do, thereby ending up regretting the “do” I’ve done?

But for the grace and mercy of God, I’m toast. Done. Finished. Incomplete and completely hopeless. My righteousness is as filthy rags before the Father. Oh, I know it could have been worse. Trust me. I’ve been worse. I have some yesterdays filled with worse, some rancid history—a season or two in my past where I was deeply entrenched in willful sin, feeding the desires of my flesh and damaging my soul’s pulse. Thank God for his patience, for his willingness to tarry a while longer . . . long enough for me to come to my senses and to realize that a swine’s filling was a poor substitute for heaven’s bread.

My stomach sours with remembrance. My heart swells with relief for the mercy afforded therein. It’s been a long road, this grace journey. Some days, I still feel like the wretch in the middle of an amazing grace. Some days, I feel like a saint. Today I just feel numb. Suckered in by circumstance, I fell prey to the schemes of the enemy, and, in doing so, I became the predator—a mom sucking the life out of a moment and out a soul that depends on me to know better. To live better. To give better.

I’m sorry, sweet daughter of mine, for failing you today. Grace should be the standard in our home, and love should lead the way. It would be so much easier for you to understand the cross and its mercy and the big God who bent low to offer them both if I could get my act together and live accordingly. Your forgiveness is rich and your love all the more. Today, you’ve been Jesus to me. In doing so, you’ve erased some of the sting of the last thirty minutes. I promise that the next thirty will live better for both of us.

No more crying over spilt milk. God will put us back together. I love you, Amelia.

Love,

Momma

PS: My friend, Laura Boggess, wrote some kind words about Beyond Cancer’s Scars. You can read her thoughts and sign-up to win a copy of the book by clicking here. Even more grace added to my day. Thanks, friend.

 

the trembling heart . . .

God sees the trembling heart.

He saw mine this morning, took notice of the growing conviction that began in me long before my burden made its way to my usual second pew. His Word sparked a fire. His Spirit fanned it into flame, and I trembled . . . all the way through four verses of Johnston’s and Towner’s Grace Greater Than Our Sin.

“Sin and despair, like the sea waves cold,

Threaten the soul with infinite loss;

Grace that is greater, yes, grace untold,

Points to the refuge, the mighty cross.”

Soul-threatening, infinite loss. There was something about that phrase that rang as a clarion call to my spirit; it stirred me in the deepest way, and my heart trembled privately in that moment. It didn’t warrant the response of others. I kept it hidden. Most times I don’t; soul-stirring moments usually move me to an altar and to my knees in responsive worship, but not today. Today, I stayed put . . . stayed hidden in Christ and allowed my trembling heart its due. It came in fullness, and I was washed afresh with a healthy and holy dose of reverence for the only God who can be known.

I fear the day when my heart no longer trembles with such awareness, when my soul remains unmoved by the Spirit’s stirring. That would be death to me. Certainly, there have been seasons in my spiritual journey when I’ve experienced a worldly numbness to God’s presence—times when I’ve been unaware of his movements within and around my life. Times when, perhaps, I chose not to look inward, to reach upward, to bow downward because of some foolish notion regarding my own abilities to shake off spiritual complacency and to stir up a fledgling faith.

I cannot create a trembling, reverent heart on my own. Without God’s participation and willing disclosure of himself, I cannot grow my fear of him. I can only receive it as it comes from him, times when God clearly and forcefully cuts through the chaos and clutter of my existence and announces his authority in undeniable measure. This I can recognize. This I can claim as truth.

God is God, and I am not. Today my heart trembled with this realization. In holy fear, I clutched my hymnal; I sang conviction, and the sinner inside of me looked inward, reached upward, and bowed downward in grateful pause for the holy love that swept me up, swiftly and fully into the grace of Jesus.

How long has it been since you’ve felt the holy trembling of your heart because of God’s revelation of himself? When was the last time your soul shook with the realization that God is God and that you are not? Have you forgotten to look inward, reach upward, bow downward in anticipation of God’s presence? What self-reliance is keeping you from holy dependence?

I cannot create a trembling moment for you. I can only point you to the One who is willing to give you one of your own. Get to God. Ask him for more of himself to be revealed to you in your hour of need. God is not reluctant in giving himself to his children. God stands ready. He’s looking for those who stand ready to receive.

“Marvelous, infinite, matchless grace,

Freely bestowed on all who believe!

You that are longing to see His face,

Will you this moment His grace receive?”

Oh that we would never grow too grand and too certain regarding our righteousness that we forget the marvelous grace of our loving Lord! It exceeds our sin and our guilt and postures our souls for heavenly gain. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

common sense and good grace… {for Jadon}

There’s a boy that I love… a third son whose name means “God has heard.” A tenderhearted grace that arrived in our lives in a season when I thought my womb would remain closed for forever. It’s a long story, really it is. One that I’ve written about at length in another manuscript that’s yet to make it off the bookshelf. Safe to say, Jadon’s birth filled a deep longing in our young married hearts to have a child together. He’s a miracle, and today I was given another keepsake to treasure. Today, my son finished the 5th grade.

 

There was a season not long ago when I didn’t know how it would finish for us… how we’d make it through the stresses and rigors of the curriculum. Some of you may remember my frustration—a time when common sense and good grace threatened to leave the building. Thankfully, sense and grace prevailed, and today my son finished the 5th grade. Not just any kind of a finish… a strong finish.

Jadon and his awesome tutor, Ms. Ann!

And I applauded him. Choked back a few tears, thought back a few years, and realized just how far common sense and a very good grace have carried us all. It doesn’t always end this way. Not everyone makes the honor roll, at least not on this side of eternity. Some of us scrape and scrap our way through to the finish line believing the finish line to be the honor, not the grades. But every now and again, we receive the glory of having them both—the honor roll and the finish line colliding as one and reminding us that all has not been lost in the struggle to get there. There has been gain and growth that will carry over and push us forward into the next chapter of our stories.

 

I don’t know how that next chapter will read for Jadon. I do believe it will be hard for this miracle boy growing into a man, especially as he tries to meld into a mold that doesn’t fit with his uniqueness. We’ll be homeschooling next year, a change that will certainly bring challenges our way. But despite the many unknowns regarding Jadon’s tomorrows, this I do know. Common sense and good grace will take him where he wants to go… where he needs to go. Common sense and good grace never fail. Common sense and good grace make the honor roll every time.

 

May God grant us all an ample supply of both as we press on in faith toward the finish line. As always…

 

Peace for the journey,
post signature

error: Content is protected !!