(On grace, gratitude, and grief)
The nights crowd in this time of year.
We drive home through dark skies that blot out distractions. We close the curtains and pull on our pajamas — turn on the lamps, break out a blanket, and settle in.
Is it just me? Or do the deeper nights invite deeper thoughts to come in? Maybe thoughts we’ve hurried past or tucked away while the light lasted long.
I wind the clock hands back an hour,
And I wonder if it’s time to tend the fires that have burned low.
When morning comes — still dark out — I sit in my chair for devotions and I ask God to stir two things down into my heart and mind each day:
gratitude toward Him and grace toward others
And to please keep them stirred in – like a rich, warm, nourishing soup, so my distracted soul will stay satisfied.
Grace and gratitude.
I wonder why a simple prayer of thanks before a meal is called “saying grace.” I google it and then I think maybe grace is something to be spoken all day long.
As I place two feet on the floor in the morning — say grace.
As I pour my coffee and open my laptop — thank you, Lord – grace.
As I read my friend’s sweet text — all grace.
As I open a full refrigerator — once again, grace.
As my two doggos look at me with love — wonderful grace.
Every small provision, every undeserved favor—
each moment in front of me holding evidence of His care and kindness in its hands
if I slow down to see.
Grace.
Gratitude.
Unhurried breathing, in and out:
Grace. Gratitude.
Along with saying grace with a grateful heart, I want another type of grace, too. I want to reserve in my mind a patient space around others — a grace space — for family, children, parents, friends, coworkers, and even strangers. A place that is just a generous allowance of imperfection. Like God gives me.
Grace. Gratitude.
Two friends walking together, stirring up goodness.
But these days I also think often about grief. The ache of loss, watching the trees let go of their golden leaves as our treasures fall and blow away. Maybe we’re grieving a dear loved one — but also maybe a season of life, a state of health, a job, a best friend. What we had and no longer have.
Well, but grief can’t walk with grace and gratitude.
Can she?
I have come to believe she does, though usually uninvited. Grief complements grace and gratitude quite well. Grief strips away the imperfections and reveals the precious center — the things that matter and last. It shines a bright light on the real treasures. And sometimes it allows us to finally understand and forgive. Grief brings her own gifts, often overlooked.
When Dad and I fought side-by-side for a good ending to his earthly life, we did our best, but we were human and it wasn’t always easy or perfect. I find it hard to describe, but when he was gone, so were our mistakes, fears, and sufferings. As in a crucible, what remained was a pure essence of love: a deep, eternal, unified love. None of the rest mattered anymore. Just an incredible love and gratitude for my Dad.
Grief stirs up gratitude and grace. And, thankfully, those two friends come alongside, as time passes, to soften the edges of unwanted grief, to brighten the darkness, to add color and depth back around the loss.
I can’t help but think it would be better if we could see all three of these “G’s” more clearly. If we could forgive, speak love, and set aside the petty and the selfish, knowing earthly time is limited. If we could widen our hearts and make room for that patient grace that says:
“I love you. You have brought such good, such bright joy, and so many lessons to my life. Your love has impacted me forever, and I will never be the same because of you. I carry pieces of you with me, dear Mom, daughter, brother, friend, sister, son, grandchild, Dad. … and, yes, dear Savior.”
“I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for you, I always pray with joy.” — Philippians 1:3-4
Leveled 