Grace

I'm just learning about grace. It's not something I excel at...giving or receiving.

I keep an old email in my inbox...a conversation I had with a writing professor in 1999. (Yes. 1999.)

I missed class in the fall of my senior year, which marked the first time I'd ever missed class for any reason in four years of college. In a panic, I wrote to the professor: I want to apologize for missing class today. In four years of college, I have never missed any class for any reason. Today was a first for me. I did not intend to miss, but I had a kind of personal problem that I had to take care of at that time. I'm sorry for missing, and I wanted to explain that I wasn't just taking a nap or something. I talked to Deanna, and I'll get the handout from her. If there's anything else I need to do to make up my absence, I'll be happy to do it. I promise this won't happen again.

The professor had a pretty strict attendance policy, so I waited somewhat uncomfortably for her response. It came a short time later:  You're entitled. Don't think anything about it. We missed you.

What is this?

It's grace.

That was 1999. It is now 2012 and I still struggle to get the grace thing. I get rules. I don't get grace.

This past Saturday, Ryan and I planned to work around my house, getting the yard whipped into shape (his project) and the house whipped into shape (my project) so we won't come back to a big mess after our honeymoon. And we had a service guy coming to the house for an installation.

He was scheduled to come between 8-12 and showed up a little more between 1 and 2. Right when Ryan and I had settled in to eat lunch. I continued scarfing chicken and veggies while Ryan went outside to meet him and give him the unofficial tour. Of course there were a few things he didn't know, so now and then I dashed outside in my socks and hobbled over rocks to deliver information, all the while inwardly grumbling that my house "nesting" project was interrupted.

As I eagerly dove into cabinet reorganization, Ryan popped in the back door, gave me one of those gorgeous smiles and said, "Hey I have to go under the house. The guy can't fit under there. I'll be back."

I snatched wrapping from around the gifts I was unpacking while not-so-silently grumbling that the man should be able to do his job by himself, not with the help of the homeowner.

As I happily stacked my newly stocked containers in the cabinet, I heard the two of them laughing and exchanging conversation in the backyard. I glanced out the window to see Ryan leaning on the rake talking with the guy who was standing in the middle of the leaf disaster.

The Martha in me overtook the Mary and I grumbled about waning daylight hours and how much work Ryan planned to get done and how it would bother him if it didn't get done...

I looked up from my organizing on the kitchen floor to see Ryan's face peeking in the back door again. "Hey do we have any coffee? He could use some. It's a little cold out here." I rolled my eyes in the direction of the coffee pot. There was about a cup left.

I tried to have a good attitude about it as I made a fresh pot and went back to my organizing. At last, Ryan came in and I thought everything was about done...but apparently not. Apparently they'd moved to the indoor portion of the festivities. I looked at the leaf-covered backyard, with the rake abandoned and became (in my opinion) righteously indignant. I pushed the last of my nesting aside and rather noisily donned my hoodie. Trying to even my tone, I said, "Honey were were planning to mulch or bag the leaves?" He said, "Oh we can bag them later."

Probably in not nearly as nice a tone as I intended, I pointed at the imaginary watch on my left wrist and said, "Well we don't have a lot of daylight left. I'll go rake."

And y'all, I punished the HOOEY out of that yard, angrily raking leaves into enormous piles and shoving them deep into leaf bags. All the while, hot tears rolled down my face and I caught short, sharp breaths between my silent sobs. This was not fair. I was not supposed to be out here doing yard work by myself while Ryan helped the service guy do his own job.

Oh Bekah.

Grace. Grace.

After he left (which probably wisely took place after I departed to shop for more leaf bags), I handed Ryan a Coke and a Reese peanut butter tree (my meager attempt at a peace offering) and dissolved into tears in his arms. And that wonderful man, without one single ounce of condemnation in his eyes or voice, gently wiped away my tears and explained that the man had a very long day, and had another job yet to go to after leaving us. That crawling under the house had been Ryan's offering. That the coffee was just a nice gesture he was happy to give.

Grace.

I need to learn it. And I'm so glad to walk through life with a man who gets it.