Some friends and I went to see The War Room, and after many tears and over an hour of my resisting standing up and shouting, "Amen!" I left...
thinking about grace.
Just like you are unaware of a sin that grows and blinds you to the light...grace, too, sneaks up on you. I would imagine I have had many brushes with Gods grace, only to think it was just luck or good timing on my part. Or perhaps a fluke. Or probably thinking it had to do with something I did...like I made it happen, by my own strength.
This house? This is grace. From the garden to the history to the tiny mouse that ran through my bathroom. The fact that my mismatched furniture fits perfectly, to the watering knob outside that is an actual statue of Saint Francis. From the pond and the frogs, to the string of twinkling lights. This house, every day, feels more and more like it was hand built for me, my husband, my children, my family. His presence is so strong in every room, and despite the short time we have been here, we all agree, it feels as if we have lived here forever.
Our friend, a Deacon, came over to bless our home. Like baptizing a baby, we sprinkled each corner with holy water. Luke asked if this meant that we were all safe. The remains of the holy water were poured into the earth, at the feet of our statue of the Blessed Mother. We drank champagne, shared a feast, and celebrated until past dark.
This house is safe. Because inside of this house is a family that serves our Lord.
This is more than house. This is a home.
A fresh beginning, a new start, all of us, a new creation.
And most days I have to stop in my tracks to say a prayer of gratitude.
Actually, all days...
A few years ago I would never had believed I made it to here, loving the people under the roof the way that I do. Loving my life, loving Jesus. Knowing how much I need a savior. Believing in His mercy and love.
And every bit of it is His grace.
