Feeding Grace

Slowly. Carefully. So humbly, she lifted the cup to the young woman's lips.


I'd watched this caretaker throughout the weekend. How she served the other, severely handicapped, bound to her wheelchair. Her beauty was radiant. Peace oozed out of her. She seemed to have true joy in her serving. 


And now she held life to the young woman's lips. Sacrifice, forgiveness, grace, hope. But someone needed to help her. She couldn't experience this remembrance on her own. She needed someone to feed her grace. 


As I witnessed this act of incomparable beauty, I wept. The kind where you choke back sobs. As long as I live, I will remember this image whenever I take communion. To me, it was a picture of all it encompasses. The communion of strength and weakness, of grace and need, of love and beloved. 


I discovered later that the caretaker was the young woman's mother. Who better to serve grace to her daughter. Body broken for broken body.  


She was a picture of what I want to be as a mother. Humble. Careful. Slow. Considerate of weakness, brokenness, need. Strength that serves.  


Feeding grace.




And counting gifts . .


731. time alone
732. Jeff telling me I looked "so pretty"
733. scent of spring
734. imperfect mom's sharing heart to heart
735. encouraging words
736. strength in weakness
737. Advil PM
738. mountain views
739. friends feeding our family, painting our house, carrying furniture, packing our mess, unpacking our kitchen, and then leaving flowers and gifts
741. sleeping in on a Monday


Linking with Ann . .



Laura . .





. . and L.L.
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