It is unearned love- the love that goes before, that greets us on the way. It’s the help you receive when you have no bright ideas left, when you are empty and desperate and have discovered that your best thinking and most charming charm have failed you. Grace is the light or electricity or juice or breeze that takes you from that isolated place and puts you with others who are as startled and embarrassed and eventually grateful as you to be there.
Man is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of God is glue.
I do not at all understand the mystery of grace- only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.
Grace is found in our deep dark fumbling need. It ignores the self sufficient and passes quickly over the one who has it all together. Grace breaks bread with the broken. And Grace is multiplied until there is just enough. Grace is when you show up with all of your not enoughness anyways to utter the most simple and holy of prayers. Help me.