Grace’s Greatest Offender
When I pulled up to the event where I was to tell my story and point listeners toward grace, the first person I saw was a friend that had stumped me. Her life had spun out of control, and I was one of the ones she had reached to, and I hadn’t helped her one little bit, no matter my effort.
Before our panel, I sat in the audience listening to Mike Foster, tears already running down. I am no good at grace. I’ve acted to my friend like I had answers, but when it came down to it, all I had were anecdotes. Anecdotes feel like a lie when people are holding on to the ledge.
I was able, because of her, to tell my story better. I called myself Grace’s greatest offender. I called myself “the church,” the one many of us try so hard to call to account here online (without anyone calling us to account in return.)
Afterward she hugged me and called my story “child’s play.” And it was the first time I just flat-out said that I didn’t know what to do with her. We laughed good. It was honest. She said, “and that’s where grace comes in for me.”
I hadn’t looked my friend in her true eyes in a long time, and finally I was seeing her, and she was seeing me. Jesus there, in both.