When I Think of Grace

When I think of grace, I remember one of the craziest years of my life. The year I was wrung out like a dry sponge. I didn't have much to give, but I constantly needed to give.

I came home to another family in the church. They talked to me, fed me, gave me room to sleep. In exchange I gave them twenty dollars a month and two hours of work a week: a pittance.

Growing up, there was a lot of give and take, but there also was the idea that you were expected to work and give -- a lot. That's what families, relationships, and life takes. I still believe that.

Only I didn't have it for this family. I was rarely home, and when I was I spent massive amounts of time doing homework, and staring at the wall. When I did interact, they saw the shy, boring, sleeping, needy Colleen. I should have given more. I really should have.

So that's why it didn't add up the weeks when I would ask to do my pitiful weekly chores and they would say, "No, you're tired. You don't need to do anything."

I owed these people at least that, but they wouldn't let me give it. They wouldn't let my value be based on what I gave, but on who I was.

Instead of getting what I deserved, they gave me grace.