Grace: n. the free and unmerited favor of God, as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of blessings.

I must have been around 5 or 6. I remember eating at our brown kitchen table in our small apartment where my mom and I -and Donna, my sister of circumstance, lived at the time. Whether I was eating breakfast, lunch or dinner, I can’t be certain. Though, I seem to picture a bowl of cereal in the photographs of my mind? At any rate, our boxy kitchen table was pushed up against the wall, leaving only three sides available to sit at. I seem to recall sitting in the chair opposite the wall, which gave me the opportunity to study that wall in depth. I can see the wall as if I were sitting in front of it at this very moment. There on the wall was a small, wooden plaque, rectangular in shape, with a red apple on one of the corners, bearing the words of John 3:16, “For God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in him shall not perish but have everlasting life.” And, above the plaque hung a picture of an elderly man (elderly to a six year old!). He had white hair and a white beard and mustache. He was slightly bowing his head over his raised, folded hands. The man, like me, sat at a table. On his table was a loaf of bread, a knife, what appeared to be a bowl of soup, and a thick black book with spectacles lying on top. He was praying. He was saying grace.

This wall –this time in my life, though seemingly lackluster, was in fact, significant. You see, this is where the memory of my journey begins, the journey of grace. I am certain this journey began much earlier than during my time in that small Chula Vista apartment. I know this because the Bible tells me in Psalm 139:16, “You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.” His grace for me always was. My human limitations, however, do not enable me to recollect much before the wall. But also, I believe my memory permits me to visit that specific place in time to remind me that God was always with me - through the old man in his honoring the Provider with thanksgiving, and through the plaque that gave me hope with the words that offer life - those words that at that moment became "alive and active" within me. It is as if a string were attached from that very wall connecting my past with my present and into my future.

In God’s goodness, He has tugged on that string from time to time, reminding me -showing me beautiful glimpses of His grace at various junctures in the course of my life. Glimpses that reveal to the very depths of my heart that He was always there - during the good times and the bad. He has always loved me, even when I wasn't lovable; He has always had a good plan for my life. I was never not meant to be. He created me and wrapped me up in a glorious spool of His love. Forever. And, if He did this for me, He did this for you. “For God does not show favoritism.”

Your string of grace began long before cereal and kitchen tables. And, it continues on through your school years, into your career and marriage, through the glorious time of child-rearing, racing into your twilight years –and finally leading you home.

Through happiness and heartache, God is there. Through accomplishments and struggles, God is there. Through contentment and loneliness, God is there. His grace is always there.