Meditations on Grace
It’s been 1o years since this humbling experience. 10 years and a hundred other things have filled the days and weeks, and stretched out the months into years, but it is so seared in my brain–a small but transformational piece of my story, a glimpse of where God would take me in the years to come.
I’ve never been good at receiving grace. It was only last year when God bent me low and showed me what it looks like up close, me, with my face to the floor, and Him, loving me hard and furious through a bitter season.
But as with all of our stories, the beginning as we come to see it, is often somewhere in the middle, somewhere before we realize it where it all actually started.
Today I’m recounting a memory, a moment when God showed up in the form of a nurse.
She slipped in quietly, turning on one lamp near my bedside. She moved about her work without saying much, in a ritualistic sort of way–her arms strong, and face tender. She smiled at me when I opened my eyes, “I’m here to clean you up a bit darlin’.” Words as sweet as the Savannah taffy spun down by the river.
In the dim hospital room, I glanced up at the clock–a bath at 4am? Of course, in hospitals, things happen when they happen, with little regard to what time of day or night. Baths are given according to charts and shifts, rather than convenience. …