My wife loves being a mother. I've never heard her once wish that she could be away from her children. She embraced it wholeheartedly from the moment our first daughter was placed in her arms to this present moment where that same daughter is navigating her way as a sixteen year old.
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.