Small Mercies, Large Grace
Grace does not always arrive as a thunderclap. Sometimes it arrives as a child who slept through the night, a shared laugh, or a hand that reaches for yours without being asked.
I used to think grace was a dramatic thing. A rescue. A sudden healing. A turning point so clear that you could point to it and say, "There. That is where God met me."
But grace, I am learning, is quieter than that. It arrives in the ordinary. It arrives in the child who sleeps through the night after a week of waking. It arrives in the shared laugh over breakfast. It arrives in the small hand that reaches for mine without being asked.
Fatherhood has made me a collector of these small mercies. I notice them now in a way I never did before. The way my daughter says my name. The way my son saves the last bite for me. The way my wife and I look at each other across the chaos of the dinner table and smile, knowing we are in this together.
These are not small things. They are grace wearing ordinary clothes. And when I string them together, day after day, they form a life that is far more miraculous than I deserve.
I do not know what the future holds. But I know this: the grace I have been given today is enough. The small mercies are enough. And the God who gives them is good.