February 6th

When I was a child, my dad worked a lot of late shifts. He took us to school in the mornings, since my mom had to be at work early. Thus, he worked evenings. Every night, after my mom tucked me in, he came home from work, climbed the stairs and checked in on me. If I was still awake, he'd sit on the edge of my bed and ask me about my day. Then, he'd sing me to sleep. His favorite was "Amazing Grace." Even now, I hardly need the hymnal when we sing it in church. What is to many a cliche Christian song, for me, it is the sweetest memory of my dad. It breaks me; it mends me; it depresses me; it strengthens me.

The idea of grace has struck me recently. It seems no matter how much I feel I disappoint God, the reality of a second chance is always mine. I have rejected His love, His healing, His peace. And yet, he still offers it to me. Not only that, but because of His unfailing love, I am able to love others, something that has never happened to me. He breaks down my walls. He gives me ineffable joy. I can't begin to describe it. Even though I fail and grow weary, He gives me strength.

His grace is not just enough. It is overflowing.

And so, I remember my dad. The one that some could blame for my reluctance when it comes to grace. I, however, only remember his calm, tenor voice, teaching me of the grace the relieves fears, that sustains through dangers, toils and snares, that found me when I once was lost. And I know that he is there, bright shining as the sun, praising God to His face.

Happy birthday, Dad. I love you.