Rivers of Grace

He breathes in bed beside me. He breathes in his pack-n-play beside me. The first Pollard boy I fell in love with. The last Pollard boy I’ll fall in love with. I didn’t plan on meeting him at 18. I didn’t plan on having him at 34.

They are both grace to me. God’s goodness to the undeserved. And so are Stephen. And Caleb. And Jonathan. And Esther. And this bed. And the food we eat. And maybe I could go on til the little clock ticked 3 am. All this is grace. Every bit of it.

“For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.” (John 1:16)

All this grace is overwhelming me at late night feedings. It’s burning a hole in my heart and changing the way I see life. Grace. Who knew it could do that?

Amy Carmichael wrote of John 1:16-“The picture before us is as of a river. Stand on its banks, and contemplate the flow of waters. A minutes passes, and another. Is it the same stream still? Yes. But is it the same water? No. The liquid mass that passed you a few seconds ago fills now another section of the channel; new water has displaced it, or if you please replaced it; water instead of water. And so hour by hour, and year by year, and century by century, the process holds; one stream, other waters, living, not stagnant, because always in the great identity there is perpetual exchange. Grace takes the place of grace (and love takes the place of love); ever new, ever old, ever the same, ever fresh and young, for hour by hour, for year by year, through Christ.”

And Spurgeon once said, ” As long as I am out of hell I have no right to grumble.” Doesn’t that make every moment grace?

Dear God, please help the rivers not to rush by so quickly that I miss the water. May I plant myself by the stream and moment by moment absorb grace. May I take cupfuls of it and share it with others. And when the water is rocky give me strength even still to call that grace.

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