A private epiphany: How I came to revel in the pursuit of grace

For years, a pastor at my church distributed “star words” on Epiphany Sunday, the day my congregation celebrated the Magi following the star to baby Jesus. Each yellow paper star was printed with a word like “loyalty,” “patience,” “enthusiasm,” “integrity,” “humor,” and “joy.” These words were meant to challenge and encourage us to travel more meaningful paths in the year ahead.

As I dipped my hand into the word basket, my pulse quickened. I didn’t have time for “patience” or “listen,” and words like “servant” and “devotion” made me feel inadequate. Pawing in the basket, I searched for an easy word I could handle, like “nap,” “rest,” or maybe “vacation.”

The word my hand selected? “Grace.”

Slumping in the pew, I shrank into myself. Did this mean God’s grace? The love I’d already been given? Or was this something harder, like reflecting His unconditional love by showing it to others?

I knew the answer. This was the grace I needed to give, the love I so often neglected to share with the world.

The paper star squished in my palm. It would be easy to toss it in the trash or conveniently forget about it. Maybe I could hide it inside a hymnal? I squirmed, twisting my necklace between my fingertips.

Like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. A necklace. I could wear the word “grace” around my neck as a tangible reminder to show others unconditional love.

Ordering an engraved pendant online was easy and inexpensive. When it arrived, I secured it around my neck, took a deep breath, and set to work.

I started small, letting other shoppers pass ahead of me in the grocery store line and chatting with the checkout clerk instead of rushing through self-checkout. While leaving the store, I slowed to let a car back out of a parking space. I was feeling mighty proud of myself until my good intentions were answered by the angry blare of a car horn. Apparently, the car behind me wasn’t happy with my new graceful attitude.

I continued with small gestures of kindness, like opening doors, plucking sticks from my neighbor’s yard, and complimenting strangers. 

But these acts felt woefully small compared with the acts of grace I spotted around me, such as my husband driving a church member to a surgical appointment, my sister sending supportive letters and texts to my college-aged daughter, and my cousin caring for her aging parents with unwavering love. Her grace and sacrifice left me in utter awe.

“You’ll never believe what happened at the garden center,” my 90-year-old mother said, her voice popping with excitement during a phone call. 

“I explained to the lady behind me in line that I was buying plants to take to the cemetery. When she heard they were for my late husband’s grave, she said she wanted to pay for them. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

I touched my necklace. I wanted to exude that kind of love. I felt as if I wasn’t doing enough until a conversation clued me in that I might be headed in the right direction.

“Oh, so you’re going to give her a pass?” a friend said when I answered her criticism of a colleague by reminding her of the woman’s many positive qualities.

I squeezed my “grace” pendant, suppressing my tendency to gossip. “Yeah,” I said. “I guess I am.”

“OK,” she responded with a smile.

This year, instead of selecting a new star word, I clasp my “grace” pendant around my neck and consider how I can continue to live into the word.

Surely, I will fall short. 

Did I gossip last year? Bicker with my spouse? Let too many days pass before checking in on my mother and young adult children? 

Yes, on all counts. (Thank goodness for God’s grace!)

But I know I can begin anew each day. This year, I’ll inch forward, slide a few steps back, and then inch forward again. 

It’s the forward motion that matters. The knowledge that, with intent, I can move closer to a grace-filled life.