Not Even Perfectionism

My world is filled with valuable people who make it easy to practice love. They are vibrant, fascinating, talented, precious, quirky, beautiful people, and I have been thanking God for them a lot lately. If you are reading this, you are probably one of them—pick the words you like above, any of them, and wear them for as long as you would like :)

One of these wonderful friends advised me wisely on Monday morning: don't forget about grace, Amber. We didn't get a chance to finish, or for her to explain, but I still took the advice.

I thought about grace all day yesterday. And I still can't stop. 

First, I remembered a time when I made a new friend. She joined me in church, and we were sitting side by side when it hit me that she might not understand what we were listening to; I had often helped her translate words. I leaned over and reminded her that I would be happy to help her out if she needed it. She spouted out a few unfamiliar words, and I quickly defined them. We were both having fun with it. But midway through: Amber, what does grace mean?

What does grace mean?

The question amazed me. The opportunity to share humbled me. I assured her that we would talk about it after church was over. Don't forget about it, I said. 

I forget how I defined grace that day after church, but I can remember the way that my words came leaping out of my chest, and how it felt that nothing could contain the joy that I felt in that moment. To define grace, then, was to give it. And to acknowledge it for myself. 

"Don't forget about grace." 

I have been drafting this entry for two days now; I started it on the side of the highway when Eric and I were broken down and waiting for the tow truck. I couldn't think of any words to fill in the spaces, the abstraction of what grace means, but images from the night before rushed into my mind and comforted me. Grace looks like a girl with her palms open. Feeling imperfect. Feeling numb. Listening to words about hunger, about yearnings of the soul, about the need to be in the Father's presence. Feeling numb. Wishing that her stomach would fall down inside of her, or at least move aside, to make room for the God she needs. The presence she craves, whether she can bring herself to show it or not. Feeling numb. And then waiting to hear Him say, Stop striving. Be full.

In the calm at the center of the storm, I have every reason to be filled with joy and to give thanks to God. Because nothing, "neither death nor life, nor angels or rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:38-39)

Not even perfectionism.

So yesterday, I finished this post. And, I left it unpublished. I defied my every desire to become a slave to my own plans and expectations for myself. I rested in the truth that God loves me no matter what I accomplish.