On my walk from the subway to home I pass by some lovely (and some not so lovely) houses. A Victorian mansion with white picket fence on one side, a worn brick apartment building on the other — such is the property in a city. Last week as I walked this well-worn route I stopped in happy wonder to look at roses that were growing around and through a rusty, chain-link fence.
Coral-yellow petals with drops of rain peeked through the chain-links. The roses were like grace entering the space between. And I remembered in a recent article I wrote for another blog I used those same words:
The phrase is on repeat in my mind.
Because those words have become powerful words in my life. I desperately need grace for the space between.
The space between blood test or biopsy and diagnosis; between engagement and marriage; between car accident and car repair; between angry words and reconciliation; between starting our studies and graduating with a diploma; between interview and job offer (or not); between making a decision and seeing the outcome; between marriage crisis and marriage repair; between pregnancy and delivery; between birth of the baby and graduation from high school; between arrival at a new place and feeling settled.
This Grace between is waiting grace.
Much of life is lived in the space between. When Grace enters that space I don’t have to worry about the outcome of the blood test, or the biopsy, or the car, or the degree, or the marriage. I rest in Grace. I recognize the things that are beyond my control, and the things that I’m being asked to address. Grace between is never static, always moving, always working.
I just don’t always see it, feel it.
Between the blood spattered cross and the empty tomb there lives glorious Grace. When all of life stands still, Grace continues to work.
So let there forever be Grace that enters the space between; Grace that gathers in, builds up, and gives away.