It's been a long grace journey since I last posted. The road behind me looks worn and tired and rocky. Sometimes grace can only be seen when we look the rear window back down the road we've traveled. I can still see the dust flying - dust still settling in my heart. A tired and weary traveler with a thirsty soul looking for more grace and more joy among the daily. I've learned that what I hold tightly in my hand more often than not keeps my fingers clutched around the lesser thing. The greater thing is found when the hand opens because the hand is somehow tied to the soul. A closed soul seeks to satisfy with control and complaining. An open hand searches for the blessing among the dusty travel. Somehow I find myself waking every day to a closed fist. It's only in offering the fist in worship and thanks that the fingers uncurl and the heart opens and the soul sees with "new" eyes what I must not deny - that worship happens with an open hand. Oh this traveler is messy - not a fussed up global bound picture but a dirt road worn nasty. This hand has been closed and the heart turned to bitter and gravel rolled around in my soul while the sole traveled the path. The compass has been clouded and oftentimes packed away among the gear of the day. And yet the road continues to call home and the heart pulls toward grace. Grace is the refreshing water of life along the path. It refreshes daily, hourly - always as promised. Busy scatters the path and makes the destination foggy and far away and somehow I find myself off a trail that busy promised would bring relief but only ends in frustration and a parched and thirsty soul. And I find myself in the busy circle that moves around and near grace but never into the quiet of grace. Then I find the blessing - that busy and grace somehow meet and I am reminded that life is messy and lived in circles among and off paths. And unlikey paths in dark gardens lead to crosses among thieves and impulsive and well-meaning people like me are redeemed along the path scattered with thorns and drops of blood. And in the reminder my soul drinks deeply and grace comes to me with fullness and peace inside the busy circle. I worship - I
worship in thankfulness for willing Grace. Thankful that Grace was so willing to find me - a worn and weary traveler with nothing to offer - that He hung on a tree at the end of a bloody path. Just for me and you.