I’m a writer, and the pressure to produce, to create something meaningful, felt overwhelming. I chased after the elusive "perfect" words, the impactful story, forgetting the simple truth: the grace of God is not a future reward; it's the very air I breathe, the sun on my skin, the vibrant life teeming around me.
The other day, I sat there, overwhelmed by a particular writing challenge. My mind was a chaotic mess, a frantic scramble to anticipate every possible criticism. Then, a little bird landed on the railing, chirping a simple tune. Suddenly, everything stilled. In that moment, the sun warmed my face, the gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the nearby trees, and the bird’s song pierced through the noise in my head.
That tiny bird, in its simplicity, anchored me. It showed me that God’s grace isn’t some distant promise, some far-off reward for a job well done. It’s the present moment; the opportunity to appreciate the beauty surrounding me, even in the midst of creative struggle. It's the kindness in the eyes of my neighbor, the laughter of my children, even the persistent chirp of that little bird.
My theological understanding shifted that day. It's not about striving for some distant perfection but about embracing the imperfect beauty of the "now." It's about acknowledging the anxieties and regrets that pull us away from the present, but choosing to drop anchor nonetheless. To fully live in God’s presence in the present moment, flaws and all. It’s a conscious act of faith, a rebellion against the relentless current of time, a choosing to savor the taste of God’s grace in the midst of the beautiful chaos of life in Akasia. And this time, I’m seeing it. Truly seeing it.
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