My last blog was about compounded grief, this one is about…compounded grace.

Grace resting upon grace.  Layering one grace-act upon the other until there is a foundation of solid rock. Compounded grace is beyond feelings. Beyond belief. It is there whether I believe in it or not. This grace counters the grief upon grief of the traumas and difficulties of life.  In the darkness, grace is light. In overwhelmed places, grace is peace. When I am surrounded by grief, grace sits with me to hold my hand. When I cannot see in front of me, grace leads the way.  This grace isn’t warm and fuzzy.  It gets down in the mess and mud. It does not abandon me when I cannot find it.  When I cannot feel it, grace is an invisible cloak that covers my lack.  My tears are caught in the hands of grace in the dark night of the soul.  It is deep and wide.  Unfathomable.  Solitary. When I do not know grace, it knows me.  When I avoid it, it chases me. Grace runs to the prodigal, of which I am one.  It rescues me from myself.  These every day rescues compound into evidence of the amazing grace I sing about.

What does it look like?

It looks like waking up.  Breathing in and out.  Every breath is powered by grace.  Anything in addition to that is compounded grace.  The sunrise.  The birds’ song.  The wind in the trees.  The rain on the roof.  The roof.  The shelter of home.  The relationships.  All of them.  The prayers.  The conversations.  The love shared.  The bread.  The wine.  The feast.  The communion of hearts.  The music.  The words.  The notes.  The blending of both.  The songs shared. The books.  The ideas.  The feelings stirred. The warm and fuzzy. The hard and painful.  The sorrow.  The stuck places.  The deep heartache. The wrestling.  The questions.  The answers.  The tenacity.  The perseverance.  The strength.  The weakness.  The conflicts.  The resolutions. The shackles. The freedom.  The lack. The abundance.  The overflow. The humility.  The tears.  The shouts.  The rest.  The peace.  The calm.  The right-on-time.  The not-quite-yet. The beginnings.  The endings. The whole of life.

All is grace.

All these little graces add up.  They build a fortress for my heart.  A solid protected space for me to be.  No doing involved.  It’s all done for me. When I am present to it, grace fills me up.  When I am not, it covers me. In the darkest night or the brightest day, grace abides with me.  When I have come to the end of myself, it continues the journey. Grace is a gift like no other.  If I sit with it long enough, it empowers me. Grace is the fuel of life.

All is grace.

Grace is what gives me, power to extend mercy to someone who doesn’t deserve it. Inspiration to act it ways which are contrary to the way I feel. Capacity to endure hardship. Power to resist temptation. Desire to seek something higher than myself. Influence in places I don’t expect. Possibility of healing of open wounds. Ability to become holy and transformed. Capability to have hope in the face of darkness. Courage to surrender all that holds me back.  Faith to keep walking even on a hidden path.

All is grace.

Grace falls in the presence of humility.  It flees in the presence of pride.  It lives among the poor in spirit, the meek, and the salt of the earth. It is not shy.  It is bold.  It dares to stand. It pursues. Brokenness is its habitation. Weakness its home.  Suffering its companion. It is a sacred place. It breathes.  It weeps.  It sings.  It grows.  It spreads. It comforts. It whispers. It erases.  It cleans.  It celebrates. It believes. It dances.

It seeks.   All.

                      It finds.

                                     It is forever and always finding.

                                                                                          I am so glad it found me.

  Compound grace makes me rich beyond my wildest imagination.

All is grace.