I have a confession to make: I am terrible at grace.
Terrible at accepting it, terrible at resting in it, terrible at trusting that it really is sufficient, terrible at being quick to extend it to others.
I don’t know that I struggle with anything in the Christian sphere like I do grace. How much is enough, how generous with it do I really have to be? At what point is the God of the Old Testament going to make the ground open up and swallow the crazies? At what point am I going to fail for the thousand and 1th time and discover that grace was sufficient up until a point, but I have officially used all of my life. At what point should we be calling people out on their sin and bad choices because Romans is pretty explicit about the fact that we shouldn’t continue to sin so that grace may abound all that much more freely.
I want to expect perfection from myself. I want to be known for always getting the job done, exactly right, and on time. I want to have perfect grades so people will love me and look at my academic career with a little bit of awe and jealousy. I want to always be right in my interactions with people. I want to feel like the righteous one, who doesn’t really need grace, because grace makes me uncomfortable.
It’s the blank check that leaves way too much unanswered. I need boundaries. I need an end to how much forgiveness I can expect, so I can make sure to always stay just this side of the okay line. I need to be able to tailor my behavior enough that I don’t accidentally wander out of the fold. I need control. And grace takes every bit of the control I crave, and responds with:
“My grace is sufficient for you, and my power is made perfect in your weakness.”
It doesn’t give me a free pass to do whatever I want with no repercussions. Laws of nature still exist, laws of the land still exist. I can (and do) still hurt people with my words and behaviors when I focus too much on what I want, need and am trying to accomplish. Grace instead looks at me and says, “That was a crappy thing to do. The honorable thing to do would be to make it right, and not do it again – but regardless of what you do next: you are more loved and treasured than you can even begin to understand or calculate.”
It’s the reminder, when I’m the woman who meets Jesus at the well thinking I’ve done a really good job at hiding the shameful things, that I’m seen and truly known – and the One who sees and truly knows still wants me. That One is still claiming me, for the world to see, even when I’m the prostitute washing His feet with my tears and drying it with my hair. That One who heard me loudly exclaim that I would never deny Him, only to then listen to me deny Him not once but three times, still places a call, that is infinitely bigger and more wonderful than I deserve, firmly upon my life.
It’s the knowledge that on my own, I am entirely capable of being selfish, arrogant, prideful, lustful, jealous, quick to anger, spiteful, unforgiving, unkind and vengeful – and am still somehow found worthy of love. And because I have been given worth and identity that far exceeds what I deserve, I am not defined by or stuck in any of those things.
It’s the gentle nudge, when my first instinct is to be angered or disappointed that someone let me down, that they are doing the best they can and deserve just as much grace as I do. The small voice that reminds me that I can’t begin to give enough grace to others until I can trust that there is more than enough for me. That reminds me that to love like Jesus means to go to my grave giving so much more of grace away than anyone can expect. And is quick to remind me that when I fail at that, over and over, I am still called worthy and loved by the Creator of the Universe. By grace embodied. By the One who coaxes me up from each and every fall, every face plant into the dirt, with gentle words that comfort me and remind me that this is not the end of my story. Who waits patiently with me while I get up and brush off the dust, before encouraging me to try again, to keep going.
It’s the driving force behind any ability of mine to be gracious, kind, patient, forgiving, selfless, honorable and loving when it isn’t easy or convenient to feel that way. It models what true, real, lasting love looks like. Because I was first so loved, I too can love. It strips the power from the fear that wants to swoop in, because I am firm on my foundation and sure of my worth and value.
I may fail, I may fall, I may lose respect, esteem and the popular opinion – but I cannot lose grace. I cannot fall too fast or too far to be outside of His reach, or beyond what grace can redeem.