We try to share and help others, wash our hands, pray and remind ourselves daily of our blessings. And at the grocery store, I strive to stifle inward groans at the close proximity of all the innocent souls, they slip sometimes though, the anxious murmurs emanating from behind the personal face mask. I pray nobody can hear my moments of inner panic, my fear of the unknown. But those cherished hugs, the closeness of family, grandchildren, good friends, the beauty of touch, the missing of all that leaves one a little lonelier than before, a longing that begs to be satisfied.
Anne Lamott says, "Grace bats last," and this I believe to be true. Grace finds you in your weakest moments, your fearful and tired moments, it lifts you up with the simplest of gestures, like the first crocus' in spring. It surprises you, a voiceless whisper letting you know that the unknown is the only thing that truly cares about you, that you can be certain grace will show up, dressed differently each time.
And when I opened a thick white envelope received in the mail last week housing handwritten letters from our east coast grandchildren, Grace slipped from the pages, sat quietly down beside me as I joyfully, excitedly, pored over every penciled word. Is this why I kept my mom's handmade Holly Hobbie stationary all these years, tucked away in a small box in the closet? To send these little drawings to my granddaughter in some unknown time in the future? How did God know I needed this right now? In a millisecond I am propelled back to my own youth, back to a time when I exchanged letters with my own grandmother, her living in Wisconsin on a dairy farm, me a city girl walking to the corner mailbox to plop my letter in, already anticipating her response.
Comfort drapes my soul as I re-read the handwritten words from my grandchildren, for we have all exchanged letters during this time of uncertainty, a world full of unknowns during Covid19. A time when our days are less hurried, our moments less rigidly scheduled. And I read them again, place granddaughter's pictures on the refrigerator, perhaps at a slower pace than a few months ago.
Anne Lamott says, "Grace bats last," and this I believe to be true. Grace finds you in your weakest moments, your fearful and tired moments, it lifts you up with the simplest of gestures, like the first crocus' in spring. It surprises you, a voiceless whisper letting you know that the unknown is the only thing that truly cares about you, that you can be certain grace will show up, dressed differently each time.
And when I opened a thick white envelope received in the mail last week housing handwritten letters from our east coast grandchildren, Grace slipped from the pages, sat quietly down beside me as I joyfully, excitedly, pored over every penciled word. Is this why I kept my mom's handmade Holly Hobbie stationary all these years, tucked away in a small box in the closet? To send these little drawings to my granddaughter in some unknown time in the future? How did God know I needed this right now? In a millisecond I am propelled back to my own youth, back to a time when I exchanged letters with my own grandmother, her living in Wisconsin on a dairy farm, me a city girl walking to the corner mailbox to plop my letter in, already anticipating her response.
Comfort drapes my soul as I re-read the handwritten words from my grandchildren, for we have all exchanged letters during this time of uncertainty, a world full of unknowns during Covid19. A time when our days are less hurried, our moments less rigidly scheduled. And I read them again, place granddaughter's pictures on the refrigerator, perhaps at a slower pace than a few months ago.
Oswald Chambers wrote: "To be certain of God means that we are uncertain in all our ways, not knowing what tomorrow may bring...we are not uncertain of God, just uncertain of what He is going to do next." I can marinate in this truth. And I can practice smiling under the mask at the grocery store instead of groaning, watch a little less news, and store my mom's box of stationary where it's readily available, just in case.
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