Grace

Grace is beautiful in its simplicity, yet immeasurable in its abundance. If I could quantify my failures, I’d disappoint the world twice: once in the magnitude of my flaws and again in the endless nature of my misdeeds. I’ve spent my life learning a lesson I already understand but consistently fail to grasp. It’s as if I’m submerged, fully aware of my need to breathe but preparing to feel my lungs fill with water as I sink deeper as I claim to be a strong swimmer. Grace is the hand that pulls me above the surface, dries me off and warns me of the dangers these waters pose. Grace rescues me from the dangers of myself. Yet, as I write, I prepare to plunge myself in again. I feel guilt in knowing that I abuse this gift, and have a hard time finding comfort in knowing that grace surpasses the reaches of guilt, build on a foundation of love and forgiveness. I am weak, I need grace, but so often I’d rather be strong.

We extend grace to those we love. We say we understand love, we say that we really get what it’s all about, but yet we are so blown away by grace as if love could stand without it. I am blown away by it, though, because I feel like to accept grace I must acknowledge that I’m not loving as much as I should be. I feel like to receive this grace; I must acknowledge that I’ve failed. Failure hurts. Failure is that understanding that there is this person I wish to be and I’m nowhere near that goal. Somewhere in this messy crossroads grace heals this insecurity, giving us clarity if only for a moment.

I am profoundly afraid of failing, and yet it is through failure that I come to fully experience and understand the depth of love.