The Gift of Grace

We all need help from time to time. It is at those most critical points in our lives, those times when we are overcome with grief, need help making a big decision, taking the next frightening but necessary steps in our lives when we look to another source for help. Though help comes into our minds very often from a higher source, we somehow think it is the rumination of an overactive imagination or as Scrooge would put it in A Christmas Carol, ‘some unripe piece of potato’ eaten the night before.

We shortchange ourselves as citizens of this planet to think that we are alone, that our cries for help, or merely our crying alone in the night is gone unnoticed by anyone or any thing. I believe that we are always in the mind of others seen and unseen.

I believe that there are those living in our surroundings that become angels for a day. That by a mere smile, comment in passing, or act of kindness can become a changing point in our lives. We often think these people are angels because their acts were so timely, so needed, so selfless and we doubt that other human beings could act in such a divine way or with divine purpose. Essentially, they are angels of a sort, the hands of the one that sees our needs and responds through those on this Earth plane.

And then I believe there are those times when we are assisted by those unseen. Though the acts may be small or large, there is sometimes little doubt that an occurrence was mere chance. It is these acts that form our “sacred” lives. Those parts of ourselves that we desperately wish to share with others, but, because of our fear of minimizing the event, we keep to ourselves. And I must say that it is rare to find a person who can hear of these suspected interventions and be accepting of our gift of grace. Very often our fears are well founded. I have ventured stories of my heart-felt inspiration only to hear laughter or a doubt-filled remark – “you probably dreamed that,” or worse yet, a comment that would infer that I was not worthy enough to receive such a gift.

People, as much as they want to believe that help exists, are reluctant to recognize it when it happens, particularly when it happens for others. There is a thought perhaps that this other person has an inside track with God and that they, because they themselves have not recognized such activities in their lives, are somehow devoid of spirituality or worthy of being a benefactor of such grace.

I am constantly dumbfounded to find that people are so willing to believe in the miracles wrought upon common man in the Bible and on those portrayed in TV programs and are not willing to apply this same open thought to themselves or people they know. Must there be a stamp of network approval or Biblical acknowledgement on something before our skeptical society is willing to recognize God at work in our daily lives?

If so, then we are missing out on the greatest gifts we can experience on Earth. While the challenges of life come as they must, it is the small graces of life – the inspired thought, the kindness of a stranger, the intervention of angels, the small but strong whispers of God’s spirit that make us human – that bring sense to the challenges we face and that form the sacred places in our souls.

Are we alone? Of course not. I guess I have felt, even as a small child, that I was not alone. I may have been too young to understand the events in my life, but I saw figures in my room as I lay in my crib. I remember the dreams that gave me answers to my questions, and I remember the helping hand of a stranger even at an early age. If I can put myself into that frame of mind in my childhood, there were things that I just knew. They did not have to be proven to me. I was not the skeptic that my adult self was and is. My association with those unseen (to others) was my real home and I felt a visitor here.

My actions as an adolescent would betray this belief. I was very narcissistic and felt the actions of those around me reflected their feelings about me. Words hurt like knives and I sometimes felt suicidal. I wanted to end the hurt knowing, even then, that I was loved on some higher plane. But this was and is a part of my journey of discovery. Knowing something in your head does not have an impact until it is integrated into your heart. Some people seem to be born with this heart/head connection; most of us are not.

But it is the day-to-day occurrences that are more than coincidence that can bring us back to that child-like state of mind – to a place where we are willing to believe again, even if it means we risk being the fool.

I have not shared many of my special experiences with others. I have been very cautious about making the personal sacred open to scrutiny, but I have reached a point in my life where the fear of scrutiny is less of a motivation than the desire to share the joy of discovery. And I am, frankly, tired of the goodness in our life experiences being criticized while open displays of the degradation of man is praised for its artfulness.

The degrading actions of man have become popular and so readily accepted in our society, even if it means that these cut us off from the very essence of who we are. Exploring the darkness of someone else’s morbid reality often separates us from THE source of light and comfort. And then we strive even harder to connect, feeling more unworthy of contact.

The silent, small voice that speaks to our hearts is always there for the taking. We have come to trust what is before our eyes in very blatant expression and what is shouted in our media. We have forgotten how to be still and to listen. And more importantly, we have forgotten how to ask for help – to know the needs of our hearts well enough to ask for a solution.

I know who and what is out there helping us in our lives. As a child, I read a passage in Sunday School that says, “God works in mysterious ways.” I believed that, and I believe it now. Perhaps our little corner of reality does not allow us to understand the wonders that are out there beyond our current level of sight, sound or understanding. But then, I don’t understand how my computer works either. I am astounded that I can type this document, save it and then find it again for later editing. I can send it over wires to another person with a different e-mail address and will become agitated if they don’t immediately receive it. My expectation is not predicated on my understanding of the system. I don’t have a clue how it works, but I know it works. How much greater would our lives be if, through faith alone, we tested the unknown system – asked for help, expected answers and, by doing so, enriched our lives and the lives of others?

The bottom line is – we don’t have to understand how it works; only that it does. And the more we exercise our option to use the system, the more we refine our expectations and learn to work within our own frame of reference and, finally, become comfortable with the gift of grace.