I missed “Sunday grace” yesterday but isn’t grace an everyday thing?

Sunday’s Grace:  My fellow Sunday school classmates showed me an immeasurable amount of love yesterday.  Their words of affirmation and love filled me full and running over.  I think I must have been glowing the rest of the day.

Sweet William and I witnessed the renewing of wedding vows from a couple who had been married fifty years.  The looks on their faces were priceless.  As the pastor asked them to repeat vows to one another, they pledged, once again, to love each other until death shall part them.  And isn’t that what love really is?  A pledge, a commitment, a covenant?  It’s not a fluffy emotion that rises and falls like a thermometer reflecting the conditions around it.  Love is something we do, something we promise when the feelings fluctuate.

As I reached for Sweet William’s hand during the ceremony, I was thankful for his commitment to me, for my commitment to him.  Where would we be if not for that?  What would we have done if God had not given us the grace to endure the rough waters and fiery trials?

Monday’s Grace:  I got a long-awaited letter from a far-away friend.  Our ages are decades apart, but she is dear to me.  Her words made me laugh out loud.  I read them with care, taking in all the inflections she shared, smiling at the funny pictures she drew, and hearing her heart.

I love snail mail.  I think we miss something in this quick-message life we live.  While it is a convenience to send and receive texts, emails, tweets (what is that anyway?), I enjoy going to the mailbox at the end of my drive, shuffling through the ads, bills, requests for donations, and spying a return address sticker at the left top corner of an envelope from someone I love.  It’s like candy from the postman (woman).  I open it when I have time to sit and relish every word and sentiment.

Most texts and messages seem more like something to read, respond to, and check off the list.  Not all of them, mind you.  I do get some really endearing letter-like messages from friends, and I try to treat them like a hand-written note.  Reading slowing.  Savoring the message.  Taking my time to write a response.  I would not want to lose that kind of communication.

I must admit that while my young friend hand writes her letters, I usually type mine.  It’s faster for me which may put me back in the category of quick-messaging.  I’ll have to think about that.

Words.  They have impact.  They are important.  It used to be the highest compliment to say a person was true to his word.  If he said it, he meant it no matter what.

We throw our words around casually these days.  Promises are made all day long.  I see it at every TV commercial break.  During a political campaign it’s hard to believe whose words are true.

It makes me examine my own words, my easy responses, my commitments to do something or be somewhere.  I really want to be a woman of my word, someone who can be counted on to do what she says.

Seeing that Jesus was called the very WORD of God shows me that God values His own words, His own commitments.  He sent His Son to fulfill His promise, long-awaited and far away.  The Word was God’s way of communicating with a world that needed to know Who He really is.  It was His way of inviting us into a relationship with Himself.

The Word made flesh.  Dwelling among us.  God coming down to speak in a language we could understand.

That is amazing.  And that, my friends, is Monday grace for sure.