Grace

I do not want to give grace. I don’t want to. I’m like a child stamping my feet in protest because it’s too hard and it’s not fair and I just want ice cream and my bed. My heart is thudding and my eyes are watering and it’s nagging at all of my nerves, all of me is screaming that just this once it needs to be okay to withhold grace.

It’s too hard. It’s much too hard to show grace in moments like these.It’s too hard because I am still broken and I am still aching for the new creation when grace will be shown in all its fullness and my sinful heart is being torn in two very different directions and I can’t.

I can’t show grace. I don’t want to show grace. I want to rant and rage and shake my fists. But I can’t. I can’t. I won’t.

One of my friends sent me a quote from Exodus today, and they meant it to be humorous because it reminded them of the “aint nobody got time for that” meme, but the quotation was, “oh my Lord, send somebody else” and that’s the point I’m at. I’m sitting on my bed, where I’ve sat much of this afternoon, wondering why God wouldn’t send someone else to do this task, why someone else couldn’t think these thoughts and ache for these things. I so desperately wish he would send someone else.

But then the husky voice of Dustin Kensrue reminds me of something else. We’ve been singing his song Rejoice in church for a while and it reminds me of the days of listening to Thrice, where he screamed more than sang, and I’m thankful that a voice that could contain such raw anger can also sing such true words.

“We are children of the promise,

The beloved of the Lord,

won with everlasting kindness

bought with sacrificial blood.

Bringing reconciliation to a world that longs to know

the affections of a father that will never let them go.”

And I need that. I need to remember who I am and who He is and who I am in Him. I need to remember that He is the father who will never let me go. I need to remember that however often I stamp my feet in protest and refuse to give grace, he will not relent with his grace. I need Him.

In all this, in all the stamping of feet and shaking of fists, there are moments where I remember that there is something more and it’s small moments that remind me of the big picture. It’s a friend who brings a brand new set of sheets that match my bedspread and makes my chaotic bed for me, removing the sheets tangled by tossing and turning and replacing them with new ones. It’s grapes on the grass with friends who make me smile. It’s friends who remind me that there is purpose for all this, and that one day we will see it. It’s coffee and tea and conversations.

It’s Jesus. Jesus’ glory is the end point of all this, and His grace is enough even when my grace giving feels so scarce. I am sometimes the Grinch of grace, but He is never slow to give forgiveness. And though I shake my fist in anger, He is love. His glory will prevail, and He will use me in all my weakness.

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