Grace for Grace

by Donna Poole

Grace was early today, not like the first time. She leaned her head back against the headrest of her shiny new to her Buick remembering fifty years ago like it was yesterday.

Grace had been late, pulling in the parking lot of this old country church and had tried to squeeze her ancient Pinto between two trucks. The crash had been loud enough to bring a couple of identical teenage boys running toward where she stood outside her car, sobbing and using every curse word she knew. And she knew plenty.

One boy bent over, rubbing a tiny scratch on the bumper of his truck. The other one patted her arm. “Sorry ‘bout your Pinto. Me and my brother can probably bang out the dents. You didn’t do much harm to our truck, though. Did she, Billy?”

He glared at the other boy. “Billy?”

Billy remembered his manners, stood, and awkwardly patted her other arm. “You didn’t do nothing to our truck, and Bobby and me can fix yours almost as good as it was. But call the cops if you want, so you can report it to your insurance.”

“I don’t have any insurance!” she blurted, still sobbing. “And I lost my baby, and my husband left me, and I’m about to lose my house, and I haven’t eaten anything since Wednesday, and…”

The twin boys looked helplessly at each other.

“Stay here, ma’am. We’ll go get our mom!”

Grace had waited, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand, and staring dully at the plowed field that bordered the church. It was empty. Dry. Ugly.

Just how I feel. Empty. Dry. Ugly. Worthless. No wonder Mack beat me, I earned it too, for pushing his buttons. But what did our unborn baby ever do to deserve what happened? If Mack hadn’t kicked me so hard, I might be holding my baby girl in my arms right now. Maybe I’ll be able to forgive Mack someday, but I’ll never forgive myself.

Deep down Grace knew it wasn’t really her fault; there’s never an excuse for a man to beat his wife. She couldn’t stop her sobs, ones that had been a long time coming. She felt herself pulled into a hug.

“Oh, honey, honey. The boys told me. We’ll work it out. God will help us find a way.”

The woman held Grace until her sobs stopped, and then they went together into the little country church, the woman she’d come to call Aunt Ruthie holding tightly to her hand.

Grace never forgot the sermon she heard that day. The title had been “Grace for Grace.” She knew it couldn’t have been directed at her; there was no way anyone could have known she’d be coming, but it captured her heart. Grace for Grace? Grace for me?

She’d listened intently when the pastor explained grace means God giving good things we don’t deserve, like sending his Son, Jesus, to die on the cross for our sins, and then filling our hurt, empty places with all we need to live lives to please him and bless others.

“Grace for grace means grace that keeps on giving,” the pastor said. “Like the ocean waves, grace keeps on coming. It never runs out. Grace transforms. We all saw the empty dead looking field outside of church today, but it won’t look that way for long. Soon lovely corn stalks will sway in the breeze. God can take our emptiness and make it fruitful with his grace. Don’t say you’re too messed up; there’s nothing he can’t forgive. And if God forgives you, people, you better forgive yourselves, or you’re saying you’re holier than God!”  

The pastor paused. It seemed to Grace he was looking right at her. Then he continued. “I love what Pastor Virgil A. Kraft wrote long ago. ‘Spring shows what God can do with a drab and dirty world.’ He smiled. “And spring shows how God’s grace can transform us if we give confess our sin and need of a Savior.”

Grace caught her breath. That day she turned to Jesus and a new life chapter began. It wasn’t easy to get rid of false guilt, to stop blaming herself for things not her fault, or to forgive herself for things that were. It wasn’t easy to let go of bitterness. It was a process of learning to accept grace for Grace, but it was one she embraced despite tears. And every Sunday she looked at the field next to the church, admiring what God was doing in all seasons.

It hadn’t been easy rebuilding her life either, but Aunt Ruthie and her new church family had given her support every step of the way.

Grace stopped reminiscing, lifted her head off the headrest, opened her car window, and looked outside. Corn stalks were swaying in the warm breeze. What a beautiful summer morning! Aunt Ruthie would have loved today.

She wiped a few nostalgic tears. Aunt Ruthie had been in heaven many years now, and her twin boys were grandfathers.

About time to head inside, Grace said to herself. She began gathering her Sunday school material. She’d taught a Sunday school class for more years than she could remember, “Grace’s Girls.”

The parking lot had filled as Grace had been reminiscing. A sudden crash jerked her head backward. She rubbed her neck and got out of her car, leaning heavily on her cane. A teenage boy stood behind her car surveying the damage his old Dodge pickup had done to it. He didn’t even notice her at first, he was too busy swearing. Grace hadn’t cursed like that in fifty years, but it was interesting to see the swear words hadn’t changed much.

Suddenly the kid spotted her. His face reddened. “This your car? Just my luck to run into it. I should have known better than try to come to church today.”

Grace nodded. “It’s mine. Shall we call the police so you can file an accident report?”

Stuttering replaced the swearing. It took Grace a few minutes, but she finally figured out the kid had no insurance, had been kicked out of his home by abusive parents, and was working at minimum wage for an area farmer. He was trying unsuccessfully to make it on his own.

Grace looked at his old truck. “Doesn’t look like much damage done to your vehicle.”

He let a couple more four-letter words fly. “But yours? I can’t pay for that. My landlord is about ready to toss me out of my apartment. I’m two months late on rent.” He swiped angrily at a tear.

Grace put a hand on his arm. “I know a couple of guys who own an automotive repair place, B & B Body Shop. They’ll give me a good deal, and I can afford to pay for it. These guys are getting older and are looking to hire a young man. The pay is good, and a small efficiency apartment attached to the garage is part of the salary. You have any interest in that kind of work?”

Two older, identical looking men, one using a cane, walked toward them. One of them laughed. “Grace, do you plan to make this a habit every fifty years or so, smashing up your car in the church parking lot?”

Grace laughed. “Billy, Bobby, I might have found you that employee you’ve been looking for.”

“That so?” Bobby smiled at the young man and said, “How about if we take you out for a steak dinner after church and talk about it? That sound good to you?”

“I haven’t eaten since Thursday,” the kid blurted.

Bobby put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll fix that soon as church is over. Let’s hope it’s not a long sermon. Right, Billy? Billy!”

Billy had been bent over examining the damage to Grace’s car, but he stood and put a hand on the young man’s other shoulder. “Haven’t eaten since Thursday? Guess we better get you a real big steak!”

The kid took a step backward. “Hey, dudes, you too ma’am, you don’t know me. You don’t know the stuff I’ve done.”

Grace chuckled. “I felt the same way my first Sunday here. Let’s just go inside and see what happens, okay? And what’s your name?”

“Shane.” And he took another step backward.

“Steak dinner.” Billy said, grinning.

“Maybe a job,” Bobby said, wiggling his white eyebrows.

“Will you help me walk into the church, Shane?” Grace asked. “I could use an arm.”

Shane hesitated only a moment longer, then offered her his arm. The four of them were late. When they walked into the auditorium, the congregation was singing, “Grace, grace, God’s grace.”

And in the field outside the church the corn grew tall.

“And of his fulness have all we received, and grace for grace. For the law was given by Moses, but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ.” –John 1:16-17

The end.

***

Past blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Four: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter