Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

Everyday Grace

Everyday Grace: Grace as God Made Known

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I know it’s officially August and the Everyday Grace series technically ended in July, but when Christine Organ emailed a few weeks ago to say she’d been reading the series and would love to guest post if I was still looking for writers, I couldn’t say no. Christine writes about everyday grace at her blog, and she’s even written a book on the topic called Grace, Wonder and Everyday Miracles. The best news of all is that after a two-year journey, Christine landed an agent last week! Whoot whoot! Stop by her place to say hi, and be sure to follow Christine on Twitter and Facebook.

“There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.”
— Albert Einstein

I sit on the end of the dock watching the moonlight sparkle on a silent lake, little beams of light dancing with each other in a happy jig. After a day filled with swimming and playing, breaking up fights and giving time outs, cutting food into tiny pieces and helping little feet into pajamas, I am thankful for a quiet moment out here in the dark night, alone with the fireflies and mosquitoes. After a day filled with a thousand ordinary highs and lows, I am thankful for a moment of calm.

I look up at the bright moon – a giant disco ball casting out a million flecks of light – and there doesn’t seem to be any doubt at all that God is right here, within those bouncing glitters of light. Then again, it’s easy to find God in places like this.

Where is gets a little harder to find God is in the less glittery parts of the day – the uneaten bowls of cereal bowls, whiny kids, dirty dishes, email complaints from clients, and homework battles. It can be easy to see God in a child’s laugh and crashing waves, but what about when that child’s laugh yields to an arm-thrashing tantrum or the crashing waves become the harbinger of an impending storm? Well, then things get a little trickier.

But isn’t God there in all of it – in the fierce storms, skinned knees, dirty laundry, and tantrums just as much as the dancing moonbeams, gentle waves, and laughing children?

Isn’t there something nestled within all of these wonders and everyday miracles, within the chaos and madness of this earthly existence, something bigger than the sum of its parts, something almost inexplicable and unnamable?

Isn’t there always grace?

The word grace gets thrown around a lot in conversation – both religious and secular. We say grace before meals. Or we talk about “the grace of God” when we narrowly escape a car accident at a busy intersection. We might say someone has grace when they move with poise and elegance. And grace, in spiritual conversation, is often referred to as unmerited kindness or undeserving mercy.

For me, though, grace is much deeper, broader, and richer than any of those definitions and usages. Grace, to me, is not defined as unmerited kindness or undeserving mercy, for we are all worthy and deserving of kindness and mercy – from God, from ourselves, and from each other. Grace, to me, is so vast that it is almost beyond definition, yet it is so universal that it can be found everywhere – in my dogs’ wagging tails, at the bottom of pile of dirty laundry, and in rush hour traffic.

Simply put, grace is God is made known. It is a manifestation of the Divine, the spiritual connected to the secular. Grace is the sacred amidst the everyday chaos and madness of our ordinary lives. Grace is not just an action, something that we bestow on others, or something that God bestows on us. Grace is not a noun or a verb, but an experience; it is that moment when something inside the soul cracks open or shifts ever so slightly that we are forever changed.

Grace is found anywhere we choose to revel in the wonder of God and hold reverence for the divine miracle that is. Grace is found when we take off the armor and set down our sword. Grace is found when we let ourselves been seen and heard and loved. It is easy to see grace in a comforting embrace, late night talks with a good friend, and in the moonbeams that dance on a soft lake. It is much harder to see grace in a gossipy neighbor, a mind-numbing office meeting, or a parking ticket. But grace can be found in those places as well if we open our hearts wide enough, our minds far enough, and our souls deep enough.

When our vision of grace expands, so do our hearts and souls. We begin to see God everywhere, in everything. The ordinary becomes sacred. The mundane becomes divine.

And we begin to see that everything is a Miracle.

Christine Organ is a writer in the Chicago area, where she lives with her husband, two sons, and two dogs. She writes at christineorgan.com about seeking grace in the everyday, and she is currently working on her second manuscript while she searches for a publishing home for her first book. She enjoys strong coffee, cookie dough, and long naps. But then again, who doesn’t?

 

Everyday Grace: On Breathing In and False Dichotomies

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I’m delighted to welcome Kelli Woodford to the blog today as part of our continuing Everyday Grace series. I was astonished the first time I visited Kelli’s blog, Chronicles of Grace. Kelli’s prose is poetic, at times graceful, at times gritty, but always, always, written in truth. Everything she presents on the page is reflected in real life – and this I know, because I had the privilege of meeting Kelli in person at the Jumping Tandem Retreat last April. She is the real deal, friends. AND she’s raising seven kids. Need I say more?

Please do stop by Kelli’s blog to say hi. You can also find her on Facebook and writing for BibleDude.

It’s evening and the air I breathe gets stuck in my lungs. Thick and stuffy.

Last drinks of water have been delivered and kisses still tingle on cheeks, and I slip out of the house quiet. My rubber-soled shoes make a satisfying crunch as I head down the driveway. I feel each step as if it were both the first and the last. Which in some way, perhaps it is.

Night breezes play at my skin; they exhale the long day away until nothing is left but memory.

Sunscreen and the ancient scent of bonfires tickle my nose. A bit of watermelon juice still causes the skin on my fingers to stick together in a way that is not unpleasant. Oh, how I’ve longed for these summer lovelies to return. My shadow stretches thin and reaching in the moonlight. It is the imagery of a thirsty soul. Lanky limbs that seem to mock my craving to be alone, but I know it better than she – her presence does not deny my desire, it rather fulfills.

Stars blink above the pine trees on the west edge of the yard. They remind me of the many things in life that are both never and always changing. Those whose very presence is a witness to the fact that apparent contradiction does not make either one less true.

Like the way I’ve worked for all these years to sacrifice and love my family, thinking all along that what they need is a mama engaged, a mama involved, a mama who doesn’t abandon her post or leave the trenches. They need a mama who meets their needs, who is faultless in availability, who radiates commitment and security and who sets herself aside for the good of the many.

And these are true.

But no less true are these nights when that mama needs to remember how to breathe. Because the mama who loves and gives and serves runs the risk of becoming the mama who loses herself in her family, instead of finding herself in her God.

Stepping onto the porch, I feel the caress of spider’s webs around my chin and neck. Shock registers and then the hush of awe follows in its footsteps. I feel both ravished and disturbed. But I don’t brush them away, for this is always how I’ve found Him.

In the both/and.

Rational contradictions that only add up in the alphabet of grace.

The wide-slat swing is bathed in an ethereal light, calling me to sit a spell. I can hear the father-daughter voices from the open window above me and they waft into my sacred space fluid, like poetry. I didn’t know I was so hungry for this.

Because what is it about the daily habit of practical living that makes me rush past the glory waiting, twinkle in the eye, at every turn? Past the spider webs and the stars and the oxygen of the night air? What is it about responsibility and a life lived on over-drive that causes me to think I am so important? That I am what my shadow says – a lengthening force to be reckoned with?

I don’t pretend to know. But I do know that I cannot be other than one made of dirt, both poor and yet loved. I cannot be other than one who feels the Hand that holds most acutely in moonlight shadows and nostalgic reveries and the solitary song of the night. I must remain true to the crazy creative who from time to time must let go of the reigns to find the sanity that laundry’s eternal mountain and unpaid electric bills and ketchup-as-a-side-dish-dinners threaten to topple. I do my mothering work with all my heart, but it is a false dichotomy to say that it is all up to me. That without the unblinking purity of my devotion to the cause, the whole thing is a wash.

Because my first priority is to the surrendering work of creation. And the way that the Artist continues to create and re-create me. The breath of His presence that fills my burning lungs.

So, I sit a bit and bask in the starshine.

I feel the bright darkness and in it I am lost. Perhaps that doesn’t mean I am not also found.

“We cannot seem to escape paradox; I do not think I want to.” M. L’Engle

Kelli Woodford lives in the Midwest, surrounded by cornfields and love, with her husband and seven blue-eyed children. They laugh, they play, they fight, they mend; but they don’t do anything that even slightly resembles quiet. Unless it’s listening to their lives, which has proved to be the biggest challenge of them all.

Everyday Grace: Trusting that God Will Come Through Tomorrow, Too

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We are continuing our Everyday Grace guest post series today with Evi Wusk from Evi Like Chevy. I’ve been acquainted with Evi for a couple of years now – we’ve even worked on a few projects together at church (we are both members of Southwood Lutheran). But just recently, after the Jumping Tandem Retreat, we’ve spent a little more one-on-one time together, and I am grateful for the opportunity to get to know her a little better. I love Evi’s passion and enthusiasm, her unique ability to connect with young adults and the fact that she brings a gargantuan bag of Twizzlers to share at church meetings. 

Be sure to stop by Evi’s blog to introduce yourself and say hello. You can also connect with her on Twitter.

Evi made this graphic, too, which she is kindly letting me use for the whole Everyday Grace series in July.

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I said yes without thinking. That was my first mistake.

When Michelle asked if I’d write a guest post for her blog, I naively hit the send button after keying three quick letters, y-e-s. Maybe if I’d taken the time to write out a sentence–which probably would have stated that I’ve never done this before–I would have seen my enthusiasm for what it was: naive stupidity. As soon as I lifted my finger off the enter key, it sprung up to cover my mouth as my cantaloupe eyes seemed to bust out of my head. What have I done. . .ahhh. . .just what do you think you’ll write, anyway? Undo. Undo!

So, a week later with my panic lulling more like Eyore in the background than Tigger bouncing on my eardrum, I wrote a midweek blog post. As I cleaned up the last phrases, I sat back and thought. . . I should save this one. What if God doesn’t show up the week I’m supposed to write for Michelle?

The poor theology in this question rolled its eyes and said, “You’re kidding, right?” Sure, I can say in my best sing-song, Sunday school voice that “God always shows up, God is always present. , and God is faithful,” but do those words do any heavy-lifting in my actual life? I don’t want to trivialize these deep statements, but I’m starting to wonder how much I know but don’t really KNOW.

Do I ever live the subtle difference between knowing faith and living faith?

If I know God always shows up, why is it so tough to hit publish on one itty-bitty post? Why does it raise my anxiety to spend a draft today instead of putting it in the bank, safe for later. Do I ever have the gumption to leave tomorrow’s blank gleaming white–trusting and knowing that God will fill it in?

“One of the things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better.” – Annie Dillard, The Writing Life

When Michelle asked for everyday grace, I spent so much time looking for the everyday–commonplace, ordinary, normal–stuff that I forgot everyday grace shows up every single day. Sure, things and people disappoint, but we’re called to live in response to a God who never will.

Ever.

Every day, day in, day out, day in, day out God is wedging a halo on things as normal as dishes in my sink and laundry folded (yet never quite put away). The concept of God’s faithfulness is slippery as my mind tries to grab it. It’s so foreign I can’t translate. Has the love that I give out been so off the mark, so poorly intentioned, that I can’t imagine a totally selfless and faithful love? I’d think my intentions are pure when I send out a card or give a listening ear, but when I’m in the presence of a constantly present, ever-faithful, giving-and giving-and then giving some more-type of love I don’t quite know what do with it. I just melt.

It’s the God who can evoke a posture like that Who can give us courage to leave a blank page for tomorrow and spend what God’s given today.

Evi Wusk is a licorice-loving mom and wife whose passion is teaching. She writes about faith at her blog, Evi Like Chevy, and loves spending time with her giggly daughter Charli and bearded hubby Ralph.