Sometimes I confuse it.
I think I have to earn it. I forget that it runs freely from the center of His being.
Sometimes I abuse it.
I let my mind talk me into things my spirit wants no part of. It whispers, “Remember grace? It’s there for when you mess up, so go ahead and mess up.”
Sometimes I reject it.
I convince myself that I’ve gone too far this time. That somehow I’ve exhausted His supply and He no longer has enough for me.
Sometimes I hide from it.
I worry that the grace poured out on me will only be wasted because there’s no way that I can live up to what He’s calling me to.
Sometimes I don’t recognize it. When I’ve been too harsh with my children or indifferent to my wife and they still want anything to do with me, I don’t see it’s because of Him.
Sometimes I ignore it.
I go about my day refusing to accept or extend it. Maybe I’m too busy, or distracted, or apathetic, or self-involved; who knows.
Sometimes I flaunt it.
I’m so proud when I offer grace to those that are so undeserving. If you got a second, I can tell you about it.
Sometimes I embrace it. When I realize what’s good for me and that I’ve strayed to far, I scoop it up in arm fulls. Actually, writing that out kind of makes me think that that’s still pretty pompous.
Sometimes I collapse under its weight. Those are times when it seems as if I’ve reached the limit of the depth of His well. Those are the times I remember the ragamuffin’s cry that “we are all beggars at the door of God’s mercy.” Those are the times that I fall under the glory of the truth that Jesus came into the world “full of grace and truth.” And in that grace He offers forgiveness, reconciliation, comfort, healing, joy and love. And there is enough. There’s always enough.
He is grace.