Echoes of Grace
When plans are made, small or large, hope leaps in my heart. Alongside it, a small tinge of fear leaps too.
Each time plans are confirmed, it is my choice to trust in the one who made them...or not. Like those times I'd look forward all week to my dad's Saturday promise to shoot some ball with me at the playground. More times than I can count, I'd wake up to a quiet house where a note was left instead, pushing the promise to the following week. Over time, I stopped believing his promises, and so I stopped asking.
And yet, one weekend, we did make it to the playground. It so happened that a butterfly kept dancing around us, and like the child I was, I ran around chasing it.
Would you believe that I actually caught the butterfly?
Trusting in another's promises is, in most circumstances, the more courageous thing to do. To not trust in a promise is to cut off the extension of the grace we've been given and to exercise our reactions to fear. We'll begin to act pridefully out of our meager attempts to self-protect.
In the end, when promises are broken and implied expectations reneged, the echo of it lasts much longer and reverberates far deeper than I would like to admit. But, that is the nature of an echo: it is a reflection, a ringing, a repetition which continues until the wave recedes.
Grace upon grace upon grace, I tell myself. It pours over the echo of old pains.