Grace isn’t a little prayer you chant before receiving a meal. It’s a way to live. The law tells me how crooked I am. Grace comes along and straightens me out.
D.L. Moody
Why the name, “A Record of Graces”? Well, for one, that’s been my life, although I haven’t always known it. I have been going through a journey of sorts and it just seemed fitting to name the blog I started in 2012, A Record of Graces. I started to write about my journey to trust God’s heart when I couldn’t see His hand for two very life-changing moments. The first life-changing moment was when I lost my mother when I was 3 years old and forever lost a part of me. She died of hepatitis when we were missionaries in Lima, Peru. This was my identity for as long as I can remember; I was always the little girl of that missionary who lost his wife. It was part of my dad’s testimony in every church he preached in. I was “Jean’s daughter” to all who knew, loved and remembered her. As a teenager when we would be on furlough visiting supporting churches, I would hear all the time, “I know exactly who you are! You look just like your mother!” –from complete strangers to me. It wasn’t until I was much older that I began to know more about her. My dad never really wanted to talk about her for he’s never one to dwell on things very long. He remarried soon after my mother’s death, and we went back to Peru to continue on with ministry. I am told by family who loved to share memories of her with me that I am a lot like her. Knowing my mother through the eyes and hearts of the ones who loved her put some missing pieces of me back together and I am forever grateful for the bond I have with my mother’s family. A balm to my soul, truly. But the shadow of being ‘Jean’s daughter’ haunted my stepmother and me from the beginning. I believe she tried to fill the gap, but I was never ‘hers’. When others would comment on how wonderful my mother was, it just caused the wound to widen. When others would make mention of me being “Jean’s daughter”, it was just difficult to move forward in a relationship with my stepmother. I know that was not the intention of others, but the words left a mark. Through time and grace, I can have compassion for her whereas, in my younger years, I was resentful. It wasn’t until after my son Jonathan was born that we found some common ground and built a bridge…it was shaky..but it was a bridge, nonetheless. While our relationship was strained, she was a wonderful grandmother to Jonathan and I believe if she were alive today, she and my son would be the best of friends.
The second life-changing moment was when we buried our stillborn youngest son 14 years ago.
Of course, I’ve asked God why He allowed these things to happen. But then I have to ask why I think I should be exempt from heartache when I was never promised a perfect life. No one is. I was promised, however, a Comforter, an ever-present help in times of trouble… I am coming to a place where I realize that by grace and through faith, I will be ok. Whether I am to know His mind or not..God has His reasons. I have wished many times to be able to rewrite my story. Yet, maybe..just maybe, I don’t want to change the end, because I don’t know what a different ending holds. There’s a reason why God wrote my story and I didn’t. It is easy to get distracted and to look away from what He has promised; He always gives new grace I’ve not needed before for anything and everything I face. So I write about how grace comes along every day. I write about things that will bring me to notice Him and how I am to respond. I will close with these verses which sum up the reason I record the graces.
Is his mercy clean gone for ever? doth his promise fail for evermore? Hath God forgotten to be gracious? hath he in anger shut up his tender mercies? Selah. And I said, This is my infirmity: but I will remember the years of the right hand of the most High. I will remember the works of the Lord: surely I will remember thy wonders of old. I will meditate also of all thy work, and talk of thy doings.
Psalm 77:8-12