After I posted my inaugural
Grace in Small Things list of five,
I read over my selections.
I'd chosen five quotes.
Some of them seemed strange choices
to cite in a battle against embitterment.
I realized I should explain
my personal definition of grace.
But if defining grace were so easy,
the participants in this project
wouldn't need a 1825-item list,
and a year in which to compile it,
to triangulate their own positions
on the concept.
I'm loath
to throw down my lot
with the dark side of the
art/pornography debate--
shrugging remarks like
I might not be able
to define it, but
I know it when I see it.
Glib makes me suspicious.
But I've experienced
what can only be described
as moments of grace.
Sometimes grace is
impossible to ignore,
however unexpected.
Times like that,
you do
know it when you see it.
But what to do
when grace isn't so apparent?
How can you look for something
when you don't quite know
what it is?
Making lists
to chart the ineffable
has a pleasingly science-y
charm. But I'm having
a hard time putting together
anything like
a testable hypothesis.
Ah well.
I'll start by listing
what I know,
and work my way from there.
Types of Virtually (see #2) Unignorable
Moments of Grace:
1. Having the proverbial scales
fall from one's eyes.
I've written a lot
about this one of late--
from the perspective of
disillusionment.
But I've experienced
the joy of seeing clearly.
The congregation
sang the old hymn
at our wedding.
When we approached the
refrain:
...I once was lost,
but now am found,
my voice cracked, and I
had to stop.
I cringe to watch
that part of the video
where I turn to my almost-husband,
my face flushed pink,
radiant eyes spilling
glistening tears,
and mouth to him the words:
was blind, but now I see...
Looking so typically bridely,
so legible,
makes me uncomfortable.
Not too long ago,
my sister commented
that her life seemed
to be a constant revelation
that all the cliches
are true.
It didn't feel typical
at the time.
It felt...
transcendent.
Which brings me to
the second item,
2. Falling in love.
There's an extensive canon of
pre-existing research
on this subject, so I'll
keep my remarks brief.
Personal experience has proven,
beyond my so-called
reasonable doubt,
that love, even true love,
overwhelming and wondrous,
can be denied, if never ignored,
by a person who doesn't
see clearly. (See item #1)
Hence the bridely tears.
Hence the very presence of
a hymn some family members
considered funereal
at the heart of our
wedding ceremony.
It was my husband's idea.
But it made sense to both of us.
We thought we'd overcome
our dangers, toils and snares.
After years of separate wanderings,
we'd found each other again.
We'd finally recognized our love.
We were honestly amazed
at our good fortune.
We had a lot to learn.
And moments of clarity,
however transformative,
are distressingly easy
to forget.
All things considered,
it's probably a good thing
I have some video evidence.
3. Discovering, against hope,
that all is not lost.
This item seems fairly self-explanatory.
Included under this heading are:
redemption, forgiveness, recovery,
and luck, deserved or otherwise.
I feel like my marriage
has been continuing variations
on this theme.
And I'm intrigued by how
the items on this list
twine together so easily,
when I thought I would be
outlining self-contained
spheres of influence.
Am I missing an obvious
unifying theory of grace?
4. Finding your work.
In some ways, I think this
is rarer and more wonderful
than falling in love.
Of course, love is work.
It can even be the sort of
work I'm talking about.
Love can be a calling.
As a matter of fact,
in our ceremony, we
quoted Joseph Campbell,
who described marriage
as an ordeal,
in the medieval sense of the term.
Our families thought that
was funny, too.
But what I'm primarily
concerned with here
is work as most people
understand it--
tasks, activities,
careers.
More specifically,
I'm talking about
the work that
fascinates you so much
that time stops while
you're engaged with it.
The sort of work
you can't believe
people would actually
pay you to do.
The sort of work
you would do
in an instant,
even if they never did.
I had that job.
And I lost it.
I lost it,
even though I know
without reservation
that I'm really good at
what I do.
By the by, that
self-assurance,
confidence,
lack of reservation,
is a critical aspect
of the sort of grace
currently under discussion.
I don't always have it.
When I don't,
things can get ugly.
I'm not feeling it now.
The other day
my good friend
who lives far away
pointed out to me that
I might need time to grieve
the loss of a job
I loved so much.
The idea surprised me.
Though I couldn't explain why.
Why wouldn't I?
I feel unmoored.
Back to the safety of structure--
the next item on the list.
5. Experiencing one-ness with
something or someone beyond self.
This can happen in so many ways--
When strangers hug
at the scene of an accident,
or when I find myself reflected
while reading someone else's words
(especially if that someone
is long dead),
or realizing I'm not alone,
even in my strangest-seeming
idiosyncracies,
in the experience of art or
music that resonates...
heroism,
finding a true friend,
suddenly,
while peeling potatoes,
or out for a run,
or making love...
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