Breathing is good.
My parents came to visit this weekend, on the heels of my spring break, and it was glorious. It was the first trip to Texas for both of them, and I had a blast showing them around, and I think they had almost as much fun being shown around. It’s funny, though, having seen them for the last time before they leave…I have the weirdest feeling, a bittersweet one that I know they would understand because I know they feel it, too. They’re going to miss me very much. But they’re ready to go home. And I’m going to miss them very much. But at this moment, it feels delicious to be alone. Sinking into my bed, a candle that smells like clean cotton brightening my room, my Bon Iver station on Pandora, and a little white fur ball curled up at my side.
There are moments lately when I realize that Texas is starting to feel like home. Today is one of those days.
This weekend, and spring break as a whole, has been a breath of fresh air–with a lot of worthwhile thoughts floating on its breeze. I’ve been thinking a lot about grace, and how hard it is. How absolutely, wholly humbling it is. The way it refuses to let you take credit or do anything in return so you feel like you’ve earned it.
That concept runs absolutely parallel to the way I was raised, with one never intruding on the space of the other. I was raised to take only that which I’ve earned. And if I haven’t yet earned it when it’s given to me, I must surely pay it back later. Because I cannot be in debt to anyone for any reason.
To grace, how great a debtor daily I’m constrained to be.
It’s hard to know you’re in debt, even to Christ Himself, when everything you know tells you that nothing you haven’t earned is yours to take. That turns everything I know on its head.
Pride is a hard thing to release, and it feels even harder to be like Jesus when I’m trying to hang onto it.