Moments of grace

Yesterday started out rough—I was feeling the heavy weight of grief, depressed, lonely, angry, withdrawing. I questioned God’s role in all of this, wondered if He really hears my prayers. Yet I prayed, fervently pleaded with Him to be all I need Him to be. I said I was just going to place my pain at the foot of the cross, that this was one of the times I couldn’t carry it alone, and asked Him to take the weight of my heavy heart.

I muddled through the day, periodically saying, “Lord, please get me through this. I can’t do it alone. Please, do something.”

And late in the day I got a couple of encouraging e-mails from a woman I know who has experienced deep grief. One of the things she said was that there are blessings to be found in all things, that I just need to open my eyes to see them.

As soon as the sun set, the doorbell started ringing—trick or treaters. Sweet little kids and teenagers and many parents who stood behind at the sidewalk. They were all polite and full of joy. By 7:30 I had run out of what I thought was a huge amount of candy. My brother was with me and we kept count—our tally was nearly 250 kids. So, with no more candy to distribute, I turned out the lights. Yet the doorbell rang. It was a group of young teenage boys. I told them I was sorry, but I had run out of candy. They were polite and started walking away. I said, “Well, I can offer you a can of cat food or a package of dried beans.”

A kid with braces, dressed as a Rastafarian, or perhaps a white Bob Marley, walked back up the steps and said, “Wait! You have beans? Cool! Beans are healthy.”

So the Rastafarian came back up the steps and I gave him a bag of heirloom dried beans. He told me he knew how to cook them and accepted them gladly. Then he hugged me.

I don’t think I’ve ever been hugged by a Rastafarian after I gave him a bag of heirloom dried beans. Thank you, Lord, for reminding me that grace is all around me.