I really love this passage about grace. Grace like Tinker Creek, constantly flowing, daybreak to daybreak, moving and flowing. Or a book on a shelf, whispering its never-ending story over and over. Basically, Dillard is saying that God's grace in inexhaustible, burbling, whispering, at work all the time.
I sometimes forget about grace. When I got home this afternoon, I found a few dishes in the sink and my daughter's bed unmade. The first thing that came to my mind was not, "Thanks, God, for my home and family." I made the bed, washed the dirty frying pan and bowl, swearing the whole time. I felt a little taken for granted. You see, I can't stand to have dirty dishes or unmade beds. I can't even sit on the couch in the living room if I know there's a fork in the sink or a pillow on the floor.
It occurs to me that I do the same thing to God. God gives me blessings all day long--sunrises, a car, a can of Pringles, a nap--and I completely ignore them. Instead, I launch into scatological tirades about plates caked with rice and piles of blankets on the floor when I should be giving thanks for the food and the warm bed. Grace.
Tonight, my daughter is on a trip with the family of one of her dance friends. I thank God for friendship. My son just came inside and asked me if he could have a Popsicle at a neighbor's house. I thank God for a polite son. I'm working on a new laptop issued to me by the university where I teach. I thank God for work that fulfills me (even if it doesn't pay all the bills). Pretty soon, I'm going to help my son take a bath and get ready for bed. I thank God for fatherhood.
Saint Marty has grace coming out of his butt.
|Another perk of grace: annoying people|