The garden has always been a place of peace for me. A sanctuary. A place…
I’m sitting at the water’s edge being lulled by the waves as they gracefully roll in, then gently slide away. There is such peace here in this continual rhythm.
Mindlessly I pitch hands full of sand onto the perfectly smooth beach, making my own mess of things.
Then I watch as the waves remove what I had done as though it had never happened.
Then I do it again.
And the waves do the same.
There is nothing I can do to stop it.
I throw the sand. I make the mess. Then the waves wash it away.
Then I realize – isn’t that the way of grace?
I make the mess, and grace continually washes over me. I am seen as clean and perfect. I make the mess again, grace continually washes over me, and I am still seen as clean and perfect.
And there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it – no matter how many messes I make.
By grace, I live in a constant cleansing.