I used to think of grace as a word lax Christians used to excuse their sin. Did I need grace? Certainly not. As a self-professed “good girl,” growing up as the oldest daughter who kept the rules (at least outwardly) gave me my secure identity as a good Christian who didn’t really need grace. That was for those other “sinners.”
And then my sophomore year of college hit. I tried following the law in ways I hadn’t tried before: one-hour long daily devotional times of prayer and Bible study; leading a discipleship group weekly; seeking opportunities to share my faith with others; trying, trying, striving, striving. Where did I end up? Exhausted. Weary. Literally an insomniac plagued with worry for what if … what if I wasn’t doing enough?
The following summer I hit my knees out of desperation. I remember crying out to God, begging for him to help me because I couldn’t do it anymore.
Enter grace. It flooded in like color into my formerly black-and-white world. Grace was everywhere that summer. In the book of Romans I was reading; in our pastor’s sermons every Sunday; in conversations with my best friend who was also undergoing a “grace revolution.” It was like the advent of technicolor into my Christian life.
I needed grace, and that’s when I began to experience it. For grace is generously lavished upon all who know that they need it.
Today I’m participating in Lisa-Jo’s “Five Minute Friday,” a chance to write unedited for five minutes on a word given by Lisa-Jo each Friday. Come join us!