On grace, I am no real expert. But what I do know is that it arrives unannounced, beautiful and unexpected.
True to form it surprised me last week when I made another unplanned trip South. Grace was there in the long stories from my Dad about his days in Alaska (how horrible that must have been for Mother, he said); the years spent with Uncle Jack and Aunt Marsha at Locust Hill in Lynchburg; and the Big Story—his boyhood memories of living in Hawaii during the attack on Pearl Harbor. (Dad was playing army with his friend, John James Jackie Mook, when Grandmother Rigg called him to come home immediately!) Grace was there at night when I made my way back to the Big House, all alone but for my sweet dog, Little Bit, a most perfect companion. Grace was there in the gift of time. Time to make this slow, gentle journey through Advent, this time of preparation. And surely grace was there in this magnificent scene between the Big House and theirs, a sweeping reminder each time I passed by that the world is filled with darkness and light, sorrow and hope, struggle and peace.
And joy. As I learned in James, there is always, always, joy.
Count it all joy, my brethren.
30 Days of Joy