“I do not at all understand the mystery of grace — only that it meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us.” — Anne Lamott

Grace.
That is the only word I can use to describe the past 5 days. Grace that continually met me where I was and didn’t leave me where it found me.

Grace that looked like my therapist, who took the words I had held for far too long and held them gently when I couldn’t any longer.
Grace that looked like ice cream after school with my best friend.
Grace that looked like 9 square, giggles, and joy moments after loneliness and tears.
Grace that looked like tears when there were no words for the feelings.
Grace that looked like selflessness and giving when I needed help the most.
Grace that looked like “I love this & you” after a (brief) struggle with doubt and fear.

I didn’t ask for any of those things. I didn’t ask for grace to show up, repeatedly, and sit in the mess and the muck of whatever I was feeling and thinking. But it did.
It showed up, every time, unrequested but so desperately needed. . .as it typically does.

I don’t know what your grace looks like, but mine looks like people. Every time.
I doubt very seriously if each of those people knew they were grace. They were simply being themselves. Constant. Firm. And secure.

Just like grace.