Stained Glass

A few years ago, Matt wanted to get me a special gift for our anniversary. He knew that I loved stained glass. At the time, Sarah was in our bedroom and the other girls were sharing a room upstairs. I had turned the downstairs bedroom into a chapel. He went to a stained glass designer in Elizabethtown called Stellar images and talked to Jack Bishop about different designs and colors. He was overwhelmed and finally came to me and said, "This is what I want to get you for our anniversary but I think this is something you need to pick out." It was such a thoughtful gesture and a very generous gift, but I realized that it was a gift I couldn't receive at that time. It took some courage, but I was able to tell Matt that we needed to wait on this one. Colors and symbols had been so tainted for me. There was a time where they had been very meaningful and alive to me. But at the time Matt offered me this, I was very raw. There had been so much confusion and so many lies covering over God's words to me that it felt like everything had acid poured all over it. I could almost taste it. The only things that I could read or look at or grasp as significant were things God gave me in the moment and protected for me from Satanic attack. Even my ability to read Scripture had been compromised and so I could only read as God specifically directed and protected. Everything that was shrouded in a lie was stronger than me, partly because I had not learned to war against darkness with light and truth, but also partially because the lies were not coming from me. The lies of others concerning us and to us have great power to oppress us. It took years for God to heal my ability to hear Him and trust Him through creation, through colors, and through symbols. The Lord is always the good giver of all things, especially His words, but Satan comes to kill, steal, and destroy. How often he uses the sins of others as an entrance to oppression is beyond most of our ability to see or experience. It is why it is so critical to KNOW, as we communicate, that we do so in the fear of the Lord. The purity of our hearts as we speak is essential to life giving gifts, and so is submission to the will of God. It is the only way to know it will bring life and not harm. So much damage is done when our words are not given with care and purity of heart.

This is also very important: we underestimate the power of our words to carry attachments. We may be offering gifts that cannot be accepted, not because our intentions are wrong, but because the gift carries with it something impure. Perhaps it was tainted before and that darkness has not been released from it. Even the words of God can carry attachments which are not of God. If Satan can use them for purposes not of God, than clearly we can use words given in truth to represent things that are not true. When we do so, they carry attachments that are not of God. This causes tremendous pain, confusion, and damage to others and the only way to clear the attachments is to have clarity from God as to what those are, to acknowledge our participation in untruth, whether intentional or not, and to seek redemption. The darkness must be brought into the light and at times confession and repentance is necessary. We all want to give good gifts. But sometimes those gifts are tainted and cannot be received. Our intention may be to give great joy, and instead we end up elbowing someone in the nose.
This year, I finally felt ready to design my stained glass window with Jack's help. I chose to have it framed rather than placed in a window because I don't think Matt and I are going to be living in this house that much longer. I intend it to be a window in the chapel of the house I hope to build.
The symbol I chose was a Fleur de Lis. The colors are very meaningful to me. They speak of the passion of Christ, royalty, life, sacrifice and holiness. The three bands around the fleur are symbolic of the Trinity. The fleur de lis is symobolic of the life of the Saint, and is the symbol that Joan of Arc carried. The significance of Joan's life to me is mostly simply that she followed her belief in God's Words to her even to death--even when the church called her a heretic. It was her trust in Him that led to her becoming the Saint he had already declared her to be.
I leave you with this final writing until May.  If the Lord leads I may post some pictures between now and then, but I am fasting in a number of ways during the month of April.  The internet is one of my fasts.  I will only be checking e-mail--feel free to reach me there.  Hopefully what I am giving up in the physical will produce much spiritual fruit. 
Blessings to you until then.
B

Baby Love

Ramblings...

I am overwhelmed.  In a good sort of way, but still, overwhelmed.  I'm at a place in my life where I feel like I'm receiving so much blessing I can't even absorb it all.  In all kinds of ways and through so many different venues.  This morning I shut myself up with the Lord for a few hours and thought it was going to be about intercessory prayer.  Instead, I found myself on the receiving end of such incredible truth.  It was so overwhelmingly beautiful that I couldn't even quite wrap my mind around it all.  It's about hell, and about heaven too.  I love it when the Lord teaches me that way.  Often I will just allow the idea that is most prominent in my spirit to surface and put it on paper.  Then the Lord opens it up so fully and so amazingly I feel like I've just discovered a crystal cave.  (Speaking of which, remember how I was telling you about eternal treasures looking like superman's cave? Check These Photos out.)  It's almost exactly what I saw in my head.  I then followed my concordance through the Scriptures and was able to look at how present the teaching the Spirit had given me is there, but I had never looked at it in quite that light--certainly not with that degree of understanding. (That's what Rev. Mary calls being Holy Ghost taught.) 

Anyways, I'm going to try with the Lord's help to pull it together soon into a cohesive piece of writing, but I'm so overcome with all the Lord is doing right now that I begged Him to give me rest this afternoon.  It's enthralling and exhausting all at the same time.  I stole a 20 minute nap and then did what I love to do best to relax when my mind won't stop--I cooked. (With a glass of wine by my side of course.)  My family appreciates it when I relax that way.  Today it was Minestrone.  It's a vegan recipe (unless you use parmesan cheese) and it is sooooo delicious.  Hmmm...I think I feel another vegan fast coming on. 

Maybe until the cruise.  Matt and I are going on a cruise to Bermuda in April.  It was the Lord's idea, and I know that a very special joy will come from it.  I'm SO excited. 

Matt got promoted again.  I'm just sitting back and watching God fulfill his promises.  My Aunt is coming this weekend from Iowa.  It'll be a girly weekend for sure.  The Lord is teaching me. He gave me a gorgeous Coach bag to remind me.  Sounds crazy doesn't it?  But He loves to give us good gifts.  Mine just happens to be a beautiful shade of green.  Every day I am in school. (His school.) It is the most amazing thing that I could never explain because you probably wouldn't even believe it if I did but I feel like I've been given the keys to the Kingdom. 

Remember how the Lord restored to Job all that he had lost x 10?

Well, I'm beginning to understand what that felt like.

Blessings,

B

Love Remains

Skylight

Photo by Bgrace

A box of crackers on my table asks me, "Why sacrifice?"
The cold wind that swirls around me as I move up the hill tells of a storm in the making.  "You should turn back now," it warns. 
Signs block the road home challenging me, "Do Not Enter." 
I will not listen.  They are dark threats.  I know now to discern them for what they are. 
Love remains.  Love casts your fear aside and says,
I never left you.  I'm here.
I know it's not always quite so clear.
Wish I could change your questions, dispell your fears.
When my gifts feel like fists.
Or a slash at your wrists.
Know this: "The more you are loved the less you are spared."*
The truth is not a dare, rather
An openness to share
Pain and difficulty.
It is love in all its symphony.

*Francois Fenelone

The Visitor (Tenderness Series, Part V)

Photo by Bgrace

The clank of the door behind her was too loud. It was not exactly what she had expected. Everywhere there was thick glass in desperate need of a good cleaning. Somber voices hummed throughout the room. Her heels clicked loudly underneath her feet. Words and phrases from around her stuck out in a way that seemed unbalanced, too loud. As if the volume was turned up on the wrong sounds. The dissonance added to the internal struggle she was fighting to settle. She took a deep breath through the chaos to try and find her center.
She spotted him seated behind the last partition. It had been so long since she had last seen him. He was frailer now, and thinner. He looked up then and caught sight of her. He searched her eyes, trying to read her mood, but the gray-green blinds to her soul were closed. Cautiously he smiled, “Hey.”
“Hey,” she forced her voice to work as she sat across from him. It came out nervous, but nice, she hoped.
“I’ve missed you,” he offered.
The words woke up the dull ache she always wore beneath her tailored suits. Longing fought to reach out from underneath the heavy weight of disappointment. She leaned her frame into her hands that had been resting on her thighs and pushed her palms down her legs to her knees, as if it might help her form words from her emotions.
He was waiting.
Her lips started to purse as if to answer, but instead she paused, as if quietly collecting her soul. She looked at him then, though avoiding his eyes, raised her hand to the glass, and pressed it to the window in front of his face. She moved her fingers down the line from the center of his forehead to the tip of his nose, anointing the pane between them with the oil of tenderness. A streak marked where her fingers had traveled. Her hand lingered.
Tears gathered under her lashes. “I’ve missed you, too.”
His hand rose quickly to meet hers against the glass, as if he might miss his chance. It was larger than hers, and rougher. Hammer and nail had taken its toll. She remembered how it felt around hers. Somehow it had always made her imagine she was holding the hand of Jesus; a little girl safe in the care of the Carpenter. She looked at him now, so different than she remembered, but somehow still the same. The air quivered with all that begged to be spoken. Instead she sat in the safety of her silence.
The chair in the stall beside her screeched back and jarred her. It called her awareness to the presence of the others around. She dropped her hand quickly. They averted their eyes as she looked up, but she could feel them listening. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay.”
“Sure, I understand.” he said quietly, and tried unsuccessfully to mask his disappointment. She stood and turned to leave, but something inside told her she needed to give him more. “My youngest son,” her guarded eyes closed and her expression softened. Her face moved just slightly as if in response to the caress of little fingers on her cheek. “He looks like you,” she admitted shyly.
“What about Daniel?” he asked. Now that he had found an opening, he was eager to know more. “Daniel?” she repeated back, giving herself time to think. “Well, he looks like…Daniel,” she smiled matter-of-factly.
He smiled back and took in a deep breath, as if he had gotten all he needed to make it through another day.
Bravely then, he ventured, “Love, I’ll always be here for you, if you need me.”
“Yeah, sure,” she whispered as if she was trying her best to believe him.
Somehow then, she found the courage to look him dead in the eye, and for a split second he saw the unspoken accusation strike out at him like a lightening fast bullet. She turned abruptly and left. Etched in her mind was the image of him sitting on the other side of the glass, years of promises on his lap. How long would they be locked up with him?
She hurried to the parking lot, focused only on keeping her composure from full-on escape. She half-expected to hear the sirens. She wrenched open the side door ignoring the automatic opener.  Safe inside, she melted into the back seat of her van, away from impolite eyes. The sobs tore from her chest like a runaway train. “How?” she shouted. “How will you be here for me?” She wept her exasperation into her sleeves. Curled up into herself she cried until sleep took her.

* * * * *

A sharp knock on the window broke her out of her slumber. “Ma’m, are you OK in there?”

Groggily she raised herself to a seated position, pushed her hair off her face, and nodded at the guard peering in at her, hand shading his eyes so he could see her better.
Where were her keys? A glimmer of light caught her eye, and she spotted them resting neatly on the dashboard. She hadn’t remembered placing them there. She reassured the guard with a wave and crawled into the front seat. It was late, the kids would be wondering. She turned the key in the ignition.
The rearview mirror needed adjusting and as she looked at her reflection she realized she felt calmed. She even looked strangely peaceful. It was almost as if her questions had been answered in her sleep.
Then a shallow gasp surprised her chest as the sense of him came rushing back. The arms that had wrapped their way around her from behind. She had been held, a so gentle yet strong embrace. His hands covered hers, rough and warm. The hands-- that’s when she knew him. She thought it would only have been momentary, but his presence had remained a long while. The carpenter’s voice whispered into her spirit the words from her reading yesterday, “All is well, and all is well, but not yet.”
Dazed, she put the van into reverse and pulled out of her space. Her eyes lingered on the windshield and she saw clearly the spray of fingerprints. She wondered aloud, “How long have I been the one in the glass cage?”

Over You--The Couple in the Bookstore Cafe (Tenderness Series, Part IV)

Tired Rose by Bgrace

With a smirk, a shrug, a stare at the floor,
He shred sacred dreams, her hope there was more
"Maybe guys are better, not being love's debtor."
He was done, didn't even seem sore.
His back speaking for him as he walked out the door.
"I'm over you.
All over you."

Yet still she could count the thumps in her palm
Of the heart beating in his chest,
And his wailing rhymes echoed through the caves of her mind
Whenever she tried to rest.
The sound of his spite was always loudest,
"I'm over you.
All over you."

Her dreams filled up with poisonous ink
Black tire tread on their white and pink
Anger drove him away
Led him astray
In his pocket were the keys to her heart.
His radio sang out in three parts,
"I'm over you,
All over you."

Yet still he sat in her temple
Whenever she tried to pray
And she still cried in bed
As if her body were in the wrong place.
Finally she came to the lasting conclusion,
"I'm over you,
All over you."

Her knees bent down all over you
Her prayers came down all over you
Her tears splashed down all over you
Her hair swept down all over you
Her love poured down all over you.
Her song sang loud,
"I'm over you,
All over you."

The Girl at Pendle Hill (Tenderness Series, Part III)

Photo by Bgrace

I see her lying there all dark lashes and curls

Eyes closed, facing the beams above

Red shawl drawn about her soft curves

The wooden bench surrounds her with love

Her hands clasp gently across her breast

I want to tell her she's lovely

Is she listening?

Or does she rest?

She's almost surreal

As if I were to touch her, she'd disappear

But I know better

She was laughing in the mess hall just an hour ago

A child dancing like there's no tomorrow

Reminded me of the cardinals we met yesterday

Drenched in rain and red, full of song and spring

Chasing each other through the garden gates

Love birds mating innocence and bliss

Dreams and wishes float in her head

This sleeping beauty on her chapel bed

I wonder if I should wake her, instead

My heart drops, deeply dark blue sad

My Husband (Tenderness Series, Part II)

I love the shallow crinkles edging your striking blue eyes,
The scatterings of silver through your black-brown hair,
Your thickened shoulders squaring your frame.
I watch you and I wonder when you grew into a man,
Right in front of my face.

I remember when we used to play in the sand
Tossing volleyballs and holding hands.
How we'd drive to anywhere just to be alone
Out to the airfield, shivering in the cold.
Now I see you carry the weight of your day. 
Find myself asking, "Where'd the boy go?"

Oh, the smiles that come to me:
You'd act like a dog marking a tree when other guys would look at me.
Or when I'd lock up an argument, seal it airtight.
Wait for you to just try and fight.
"Well, I don't believe you." You'd fain with a grin.
It was so not right.  I'm pretty sure it was sin.

I see little old ladies, always sweet on you.
How you hug people longer than anyone should.
Your curiosity with everything you see in the ground,
Examining all the treasures you've found.
The tender ache in your face as your arms surround each of your baby girls;
So possessive, so proud.

I could write a book about covers!
Like how you always have way to many
Even in the hottest of summers.
And you're always trying to put them on me,
Taking such good care, I can hardly breathe!

Oh! How every time you cut your hair
You ask me searchingly if I like it.
As if you'd taken some great dare
Though it hasn't changed since high school.

Or when I forget what I was about to convey
With such coy pertinence you always say,
"That you love me and can't live without me?"
Then your resignation when I assure you
That I do love you, but I could live without you.
And that you would want me to be able to.

Though we can't dance to save our lives,
I love that we get out there and have a great time.
And when I get too serious or low
You pull me out of my shell
Make me laugh at myself, or some stupid show.
Almost makes up for your webbed toes. 
(Yes, I'm sure they are beautiful to some alien species that I hope we never know.)

You are so good to me.
You let me warm my feet on your bare skin,
And read you my writings, though you may not understand.
Still you reach for my clammy hands.
Then when you trace the wrinkles on my face,
You assure me you wouldn't want me to be a young girl
When you're a tired, old man.

You tell me you love me and I know it's true.
That I'll never have to guess with you.
Because of all the pain we survived
All that we made it through.

I'll never forget the night
I thought my mind would crack
When I explained how the truth
Just didn't line up with the facts.
You prayed over me
with such humility
Said you'd walk me through
Whatever God revealed to you
You'd be open to the truth. 

When my heart just bled and bled
You placed your hand on my chest
And said, "I love you, no matter what."
There were no ifs, no ands, no buts.

I love that we left that hole
In the pantry door you punched through
When people ask why, you don't hide
That you were angry and confused.
And you look at me with sorry eyes
that say, "Better the door than you."

I want to tell you
In a way that's deeply true
Matthew Todd, Gift of God
I love you through and through.

When I look back, it's so hard to believe
We walked it in the truth,
You decided not to leave my side,
Even when there was no proof.

I'm holding on to the good and the hard.
All seventeen years of Valentine Cards.
I know there's still more life to come
So much to do that's yet undone,
I've seen more dreams this side of the sun.

P.S. Happy Birthday

Homeless Man (Tenderness Series, Part 1)

Photo by Bgrace

3-11-10

I see him walking on the same roadside just about every day.
He’s always on the same road; not always headed the same way.
He stuffs his hands in his pockets, pushes his chin down the collar of his coat,
Hunches his shoulders over his frame, walks purposeful and slow.

Homeless man, where are you going? Where do you come from?
Did your mother forsake you? Did you leave your own son?

What is this tenderness in me that wants to take you in?
Give you new glasses; shave that bearded chin.
Maybe then you’d see better; raise your head above your sin.
I’d cut your too-long hair, and give you my husband’s clothes.
I’d bandage up your blistered feet and even clip your toes.
I’m sure you’d need to eat, and what more heaven knows.

I’ll watch as I pass you by today,
Wish that I could give a hand.
But you wouldn’t, and I couldn’t.
So instead I’ll sigh and pray.

Homeless man, where are you going? Where do you come from?
Your Father hasn’t forsaken you; someday you’ll see your son.

Voice of Silence

I Kings 19:12
"...and after the fire, a sound of sheer silence." RSV

Voice of Silence

Falling through thick clouds

Mists of mind, fog of feelings

Breaking with shattering impact

Spirit upon the surface

Of sheer silence

Sinking slowly

Into the deep

Listening to the quiet

The silence is laden with meaning

Presence permeating pores

Peace penetrating soul

Enveloping

Undone

Overcome

Made whole

B "In Blue"

"When for a long time the soul has had no hearing, and at length an answer comes again from God, then there flows into this hidden tryst a still more intimately tender blessedness, and the soul bathes itself in the fullness of the love of God." 

Abraham Kuyper, To Be Near Unto God

Answers

I believe your words, spoken in truth

But I've never swallowed the lies

Don't ask me how I know the difference

Since for the longest time

You've averted your eyes.

They've been on the floor

Or staring at the door

Looking for a way out

Or a place to hide

Where no one could see inside.

Last night there was a change in my dream,

The one that always comes back again.

When I asked, "Why didn't you wait?"

You looked at my face and said,

"I AM."

Psalm 27:13-14

"I am confident that I will see the Lord's goodness while I am here in the land of the living.  Wait patiently for the Lord, be brave and courageous.  Yes, wait patiently for the Lord." NLT

Voice of Silence & Answers 

by Bgrace

B "In Blue" Photo by Matt, Edited by Bgrace

Generations of Grace

Diana Grace, Grace Ashely, and Rebecca Grace

I went to visit Edna for the first time today.  I say first time because I'd like to see her again.  Maybe soon.  Edna is 95. 
It's probably time to tell you that I've started working with Rev. Mary.  I called her when I got back from Brazil because I felt impressed to do so.  She told me the Lord had given her the passage of Gen. 24 for me.  The passage tells the story of Abraham's servant who was sent out to find Rebecca. Hmmm.  I'm already Rebecca.  Now I'm Abraham's servant.  What did that all mean?  The word that the Lord put in my mind was "apprentice".  I'd prayed so long for a teacher, and now here she was offered to me by the Holy Spirit and I was afraid. But not unsure. 
Rev. Mary has a fear of the Lord and a purity of heart unlike anyone else I know.  Those are the qualities I need in a teacher. Mary knows my story, and she doesn't judge me.  It was through her that the Lord told me about the Dome of the Rock.  She told me that the Lord wasn't going to allow all that had happened to keep me from His plans for me.  I've agreed to serve Rev. Mary in whatever way I can for a couple hours a week, and I've asked her to let me learn and receive from her however the Lord leads.  She asked me if I was willing to do visitation with her.  That is one ministry I am not new to, and I was excited to see how the Lord would use us. 
I stopped by Rev. Mary's on Monday morning to pick up a project I am working on with her and she began to tell me about Edna and her daughter. They had asked for a visit and for prayer.  Thoughts of Christine at the park flashed in my head (remind me to post a link to that story sometime) and suddenly I felt a surge of power through me.  At times the Spirit of God comes upon me in this way, but I'm still coming to terms with the fact that what I am experiencing is real and is in fact God.  It was quite strong and I reached out almost involuntarily to touch Rev. Mary's hand while she was chatting on about these women. I had said nothing and there was nothing on my face that would have indicated what I was experiencing, but she jumped as I touched her and yelled, "Whoa!" 
"Did you feel that?"  I asked her in amazement, jerking my arms up and down as if they were soaked and I needed to shake the excess water off. 
"Yes!" she laughed heartily.
 "What was that?" I asked in consternation.
"I guess the Lord wants you to go!" she said gleefully. 
"That doesn't happen to me very often, you know." 
"Well then, we need to get you out there!" she happily countered. 
I told her a little about my experience with Christine, and how upset I was with God for "doing that to me;" that at the time I didn't even really believe in that sort of thing or know if what was happening was of God or not. 
"You don't need to be afraid," she said, "The Lord will show you what to do." 
This morning I woke up early to prepare myself for my time with Edna.  One of the ways the Lord has been growing me is in the area of praying in faith.  Andrew Murray writes beautifully about it in "With Christ in the School of Prayer."  He speaks of the Scriptures where Jesus affirms to us again and again that what we ask for in faith we will receive...in accordance with the will of God. He says that we too often use the "if it is your will God" as a crutch.  In other words, we don't take the time to actually seek His will about what we will ask for in prayer before we ask. Instead it becomes a sort of catch all we offer at the end of our prayers. We must have faith that as we seek Him, He will reveal to us how we are to pray.  Only then can we truly ask with faith that our prayers will be answered because we are praying in the name of Jesus.  We are praying the revealed will of our Lord.  A few years ago I remember facing this teaching and feeling that it was impossibly beyond me.  Richard Foster says there is a progression in the spiritual life.  Some things we learn over time, and it is not just the learning that takes time, but the becoming.  I am becoming more able to hear, and as I pray what He leads me to, I am becoming more full of faith and confident in the Lord's answers, and I am seeing the Lord answer my prayers. 
I say all of this so that you will understand why I was feeling so conflicted this morning as I began to pray about my time with Edna.  As I approached the Lord about praying for her healing, I realized there was this big block in my spirit.  I had no faith that Edna would be healed.  "Praying for her healing, especially that I would be used to bless her in this way will not do any good if I don't believe you are going to heal her, Lord." 
What was wrong with me?  I thought about it for a while and it became clearer what I was feeling.  "Lord, I'm not sure I want to pray for her healing because she is old. What if its just her time?"
Ouch.  That was ugly.  But there was no getting around it. 
"Lord, help me to hear from You that You want Edna to be healed.  Then I will be able to have faith that I am praying Your will." 
I sighed and turned to Psalm 103.  It was a Psalm that Deb Haken had often used when praying for healing and I was familiar with it.  So I decided to pray through it.

Bless the LORD, O my soul,

And all that is within me, bless His holy name.

Bless the LORD, O my soul,

And forget none of His benefits;

Who pardons all your iniquities,

Who heals all your diseases;

Who redeems your life from the pit,

Who crowns you with lovingkindness and compassion;

Who satisfies your years with good things,

So that your youth is renewed like the eagle. (NASB)

There it was, right in front of me. The word I was to give Edna and the prayer I was to pray for her. Why would you need your youth to be renewed if you weren't old?  This was a prayer I could pray in faith. 

When I met Edna this morning, she didn't need her oxygen tank as she had earlier in the week.  When Rev. Mary introduced me I asked Edna if it would be OK if I thought of her as my Grandma.  "I don't have any Grandmas who are living, and so I was wondering if I could think of you as mine for the day."  She thought that was a great idea.  I told her a little about Grandma Grace--she would have been 100 this year--and how she got on a boat all by herself and crossed the ocean to be a missionary in the Amazon jungle. Edna thought that was pretty amazing.  Rev. Mary brought Edna a Bible and asked me to read a pamphlet she had brought.  I did so in my best Grandma Grace immitation, not holding back at all.  Then I shared with Edna that when I was praying this morning, the Lord had given me a Scripture that I felt He wanted me to pray for her and share with her. (That's what some people call a "word").  I began to read Psalm 103 and Edna began to say it with me from memory.  When we got to the part about renewing her youth I told her that was what I thought was most important that I pray for her.  She nodded.  Rev. Mary asked if she wanted to sing Blessed Assurance with us and Edna's voice was surprisingly strong and steady and quite nice!  When we got to the part where we sang, "This is my story, this is my song," I about lost it.  

Rev. Mary had one more gift. I thought it was a bit strange as Edna pulled it out of the package.  It was a little white stuffed sheep.  Really?  A stuffed animal for a 95 year old woman?  That's what the Lord had led Rev. Mary to bring.  You know what? She was more excited about that stuffed animal than even my daughters would have been.  She loved on it and cuddled with it and cried with it.  It was beautiful.

Edna's daughter came over and handed me a card.   She said softly, "This is the passage of scripture that I wrote out and I keep on my Mom's table in her room."  As I began to read the tears welled up in my eyes.  It was the first few verses of Psalm 103.

The word today was for Edna, the lesson was for me. 

As I drove to pick Sarah up from preschool, the CD that I've been listening to (Josh Wilson's latest) was playing.  My favorite song on the album is an instrumental rendition of Amazing Grace.  All the emotions I've been feeling over the last few days swelled up and over and the tears ran down my cheeks.  I miss Grandma Grace.  I would have loved to hold Grandma's hand like I held Edna's warm frail hand today.

And sing to her.
And read to her.
And tell her my story.
What would she say about my journey? 
I think more than anyone else, maybe she would understand. 
Maybe she would even be proud. 
Is it possible that who I am and who I am becoming is somehow because of her? 
Maybe I am the fruit of her tree.
She didn't let her gender or her circumstances quiet the Spirit of God in her.  I could, in fact, picture myself waving to all the skeptics on the shore and sailing off to a jungle across the ocean. 
I smiled to myself.
I am Rebecca.  I am also Grace. 

 "What would she think of me?" I wondered.

And the answer came quietly and clearly to me.

Grace knows.

Grace understands.

Grace moves.

Grace never fades.

I walked Sarah to the car in the crisp wind and bright sunshine at exactly noon. 
The bells of St. Marks began to play their midday song. 
It was too perfect. 
I just shook my head...what was there to do but sing along?

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me,

I once was lost but now I'm found, was blind but now I see. 

As Grace lives through me, may I make her proud.