The Grace Card

Recently, my husband and I watched a movie called The Grace Card. It was an emotional tear-jerker with so-so acting. Faults aside, it offered a profound message of grace in action. Several weeks ago I received my very own grace card. If you have followed my blog, you might have guessed by now that I have been walking through some serious pain. The kind of discomfort that causes barking words to tumble from my mouth before I can swallow them back down. Whole. Fits of tears that blotch my face, a recent addiction to television, and a hold on my gym membership. Not fun stuff. A few weeks ago, after an outpatient procedure, I shuffled through the garage to let our dog outside. My gaze landed on a cream-colored vase housing a bouquet of assorted flowers. They held court next to our dusty Universal gym, their presence presumably out of sight. Hmmm...Looks like they are meant to be hidden. My insides bubbled with excitement. Oh, when is he going to give them to me? Then, a keener understanding filtered through my mind. After everything he's been through this year, he thought of me. As darkness cloaked the house, the vase still stood in the garage. I couldn't take it any longer. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I blurted, nodding my head towards the garage. My husband's lips parted, a slight boyish smile crossed his face and he gave me a look that said, I-know-what-you-are-referring-to-but-I'm-not-going-to-answer-right-now. I readied for bed pondering those flowers with nobody oohing and aahing over their beautiful existence. When I walked into the kitchen the next morning, eagerly anticipating a cup of fresh hot coffee, their cheerful presence greeted me, surprising me, gaily exclaiming, "Wasn't it worth the wait!" The arrangement appeared vividly enhanced, an explosion of colors. A card addressed to me rested in front of the vase. I opened the envelope, pulled out the card and read the words inside. Gulping hard, I swiped wet tears from my cheeks. I found my husband reading the newspaper and I hugged him tightly. The flowers and card commemorated the exact date and time we met at a high school dance, forty years ago. "Ummm...the arrangement looks bigger than it did yesterday," I said. He lowered the newspaper. "The first one wasn't big enough, so I bought two." "Oh," I managed. Later, while admiring the brilliant display, my thoughts spooled backward, to a guy and a girl, a high school dance and a slow walk home on a cool Autumn night. Then I read his inscription on the card again. Even through the pain and suffering, he thought of me. He did this for me. Now how can I extend my card to another?