Saturday, November 22, 2014


I was 19 and he let me borrow his truck. 

I can no longer remember why I was driving his car and not my own. 
But I'll always remember that drive home.

 He kept a rather large spot light under the bench seat of that old grey pick up. As I drove I could smell something burning but I couldn't for the life of me figure out what it was. 

When I finally arrived at his apartment I told him about the smell. We walked out to the truck and  there on the middle seat was the spot light, face down. When he peeled it off the seat, there was a gigantic hole burned into his seat from the light.

I couldn't even look at him. 

I felt like I was going to throw up. Tears were streaming down my face.  

He looked at the hole. 
He looked at me. 

And then he said it... "Love, it's just a truck. Don't worry about it. "

That was the first time I tasted his grace.

At first I thought it was just because we were dating... It's easier to offer grace when you're dating. 


But then last week, 17 years after the light incident, I texted him at work, because for the sixth time, in a very short period of time, I had broken my phone... Not just broken It, but shattered the screen... Really shattered it. 

This time I stood in the driveway of our very own farmhouse and the tears came. 

Again, I felt like throwing up. 

I was preparing myself for a phone call from a very flustered man. 

It wasn't just the phone. It was the fact that we were leaving for a long trip the next morning and we had our small group that night, and we neither had the time, nor did we really need to be spending the extra money on another one of my phone mishaps.

But instead of a flustered man, I got this... 

A text that said, 
"It's just money. We have an appointment at 6 tonight to get it fixed. I'll be home soon. Love you."

Grace, again.  

It wasn't just because we were dating.

Years have gone by.

He's still lavishing grace. 


How sweet such grace tastes.