This doctorly feller of mine didn’t exactly marry Hollywood. Or Harvard for that matter.
He certainly could have.
Well, Harvard anyway.
Hollywood might be a little tall for him!
But somehow, somehow the redneck in us both gets along just fine.
Which reminds me:
I’ve made a discovery- new to me but I’m sure it’s old news to many of you but I’m sayin it anyhow!
That life is one big paradox.
Grace is a Gift
Grace takes action to receive / Grace was never won by action
Grace is poured lavishly on the basketcases that can’t pull their acts together.
Not withheld from the “deserving” but maybe it’s just that they can’t see the hand offered them?
Can’t see that the sunlit wood floor, radiating warmth and endless beaming glow and it makes you stop in your tracks and notice.
That that beauty, the kind that whispers at you if you happen to glance it’s way, is a shred of a corner of the same Grace that shouts, screams, dances it’s wild flame of joy like when you see the mighty granite dome rise up from hours-long prairie, and the mere sight of it takes your breath away and gives you a fleeting dare that maybe something really does lie beyond.
And the weary and troubled and relentlessly imperfect are capable to see it and receive, because it’s they who know best that they don’t deserve another second on this planet with all it’s beauty and pain and paradoxes because they haven’t done one thing to deserve what they even have?
That the only reason for a daughter’s smile turned toward them, sunlit, inquisitive, beaming mysterious,
is the gift of Grace.
And that the Giver knows- He knows that you’re a basketcase because He’s been with you all along and knows your story better than anyone?
And Gives Anyway.
And gives with Delight!
I don’t know how you feel about it, but it makes no sense to me.
Yet it makes all the sense in the world.
Isn’t that life?
Isn’t that life.
Beautiful, maddeningly wild, a paradox?