As I listen to August crickets outside, the pot starts to boil.
I add two dozen ears of corn to the rolling water and check this blog.
The end of this post has a video, and I decide to watch it.
Something about that man? He looks so familiar . .. who is he?
And suddenly I gasp.
Last winter, we attended a Pastor’s conference. This man was there. We had attended a break-out session with him and at the end, for some unknown reason, he sought us out.
He asked our names. Asked our story. We were drawn to him. Before we knew it, we were telling him about the loss of Annie, the ache in our heart, the difficulty of ministry in the midst of grief.
Right there, in the middle of a crowded hallway, he grabbed our hands and prayed for us. Not only did he pray for us then, but he wrote down our names, promising to hold us up in prayer regularly.
So today, I watch the video and I learn the life he lives. And I wonder, who am I that he should pray for ME? Who is he, that in the midst of such enormous trials, he would be so compassionate and caring for strangers?
That, my friends, is grace.
And it is Christ at work.
There is simply no other explanation.
As I recount our lives almost two years ago, the tears seem to slip down my cheeks more often than they have in awhile. I am healing, but I am still broken. But my Jesus knows just when to remind me of His grace on my journey. He gives me such good gifts.