Some Thoughts on Grace

It has been a childhood dream of mine to be a “regular.” To show up to some place and have the barista or waiter ask, “your usual?” only to hand me the anticipated drink or food item before I even pull out my card and sit in my everyday seat. 

Today that dream came true, mostly. I walked into Chapters Books and Coffee, a coffee shop my friend Emelia and I regularly attend. I pretty much order the same iced oat milk latte every time. Today I came a bit early by myself. I had earbuds in, which is unusual for me when walking, but I was having a hard day and listening to Shane and Shane’s “Psalm 46” on repeat. A declaration of scriptural truth I need to hear right now. I set my stuff at a table and walked up to the counter where my favorite barista asked, “Are you getting your latte today?” 

I was surprised. She remembered? “Yep! My iced oat milk latte please, oh with cinnamon!”

She also asked how I was doing. 

“Not too great, but I’ll be okay, what about you?” I asked.

She said she was doing good and wished me a better day. She then spun the card reader around and handed me the drink 10 seconds later. I had just told her what I wanted and it was already ready.

“When I saw you walk in the door, I thought, ‘I have to make her drink!’” the barista said.

I smiled. The little tears that have been living at the surface of my eyelids threatened to come back. 

“You know, I showered today. And having my coffee order anticipated definitely helps. Showers and coffee–it’s the little things, ya know?” I told her. She had no idea that a simple act of remembering and anticipating would make me feel so seen and loved. And help the knot in my stomach start to fade just a little more.

Today has been a day of off and on anxiety, a pit in my stomach that has finally started to fade, and constant on-the-brink-of-tears-ness. Simply put, I’m tired. And homesick. I miss my mom and dad’s hugs. The tight assuredness that I’ll be okay, held in the strength of my dad’s arms. The comfort of my Mama’s warm presence, snuggling close on the couch or laying on her bed in the morning to tell her my every (potentially unwarranted) thought. 

I stayed up last night trying to ‘get it all done’ and failing pretty firmly. Sleeping not enough for the third night in a row and struggling to get up this morning. I hate 8ams. When I don’t have sleep, the first 15-20 minutes of getting up and starting class makes me feel like shit. I wake up five minutes before my class most days, the knowledge that my class is a minute walk around the corner combined with my exhaustion pins me to my bed and leaves me hitting the snooze button. When I finally get up, finally aware I’m about to miss honors, I throw on a bra and the nearest clothing items. Today it was jeans and a sweatshirt. A step up from the usual sweatpants. My hair feels nasty and my eyes itch with sleepiness. 

Once I make it to honors, looking like the poster child for college kid who didn’t sleep, I reinforce a stupid pattern of falling asleep (or nearly asleep) during the morning prayer and reflection. My Lectio Divina has become a mixture of imagination, engaging the text, “welcoming distractions” and drifting into sleepy darkness. 

But then I wake up. We talk about our prayer and begin seminar. And two and a half hours later, I usually leave honors feeling slightly refreshed. The company of my six other classmates and their thoughts stretches my mind and heart. By the time honors is over I forget about those exhausted dreadfilled minutes at the beginning of class and the hour of hell spent snoozing my alarm before. I remember why I love honors and philosophy and I walk away ready to start the rest of my day with this class behind me. 

But not today. 

Today, my alarm blared, shrill and harsh, no doubt making my roommate hate me forever. In a sleepy state of half consciousness, I snoozed it every ten minutes, debating the repercussions of failing honors in the thirty seconds of consciousness that lasted after every “snooze.” 

At 7:55 am I remembered that I would be missing next Thursday’s honors class due to a Romania trip and that I was already behind due to a few other missed classes. As lovely as it sounded to skip class today, I could not miss it. I dragged my butt out of bed, threw on the aforementioned jeans and sweatshirt, went to the bathroom, and shoved my reading in my backpack. By the time I left the house it was 8:07 am. 

When I got to class, they hadn’t even started yet. Miraculously, I did not fall asleep during our Lectio Divina time of prayer. Instead I tried to solve the question of predestination versus free will. Lectio Divina fail. But it’s okay. And I really did get a few valuable nuggets during my time of reflection towards the end. 

During our break our professor announced he was doing a journal check. I’m pretty sure my journal notes for the past several authors (maybe all of them since the last check?) are nonexistent. 

His checking journals also meant I had lost the crucial time I needed to talk to him about something very important. A major conflict had arisen that morning when I realized our essays were due when I would be in Romania. 

Because of this, during the second half of seminar I felt plagued with a mild anxiety attack. I was on the brink of tears and mostly unable to register what we were talking about until I finally tuned into some debate over why we don’t use rice or cornbread for communion. 

When class was over, my professor emailed me about the scheduling issue, and though it was a bit stressful, we now have a manageable, grace-filled solution. But the anxiety pit in my stomach wouldn’t go away. I wanted to sleep and start over. Wake up and enjoy the new mercies promised in the morning. I plopped on my couch at home, riddled with to-dos and knowing full well that none of them would get done. 

I called my mom. Her soft, tired voice sounded of weariness. She was feeling sick. 

She apologized for not being able to do more. But something about this soft tiredness was comforting. She didn’t disregard that I was not doing well. There was no overriding my anxiety with peppy productivity and rushedness. For a moment we were sitting in our tiredness and sadness together. Reminding each other of scripture. Well, mostly she reminded me. I read Psalm 46. I showered, singing worship song after worship song to myself in the shower.

I cried a little bit. 

I went to class. Then to work. I did not want to be at work. I put earbuds in and tried to be gentle with myself and those around me. I asked a question, attempting to over-communicate because my brain did not fully understand what was supposed to be done and my co worker snapped at me with a bit of sass. I started tearing up. 

“I just need a little patience today,” I said. 

“You can have all the patience you need,” replied my boss and my coworker quickly apologized before turning back to her work. 

I popped back in my $5 Target knock off earbuds (which worked surprisingly well today, Thank you Jesus). As I started to search for a song, the title of a song my dad used to play for us growing up appeared: “My Grace is Sufficient For You.” Based on 2 Corinthians 12: “My grace is sufficient for you, my power made perfect in weakness.” Song after song autoplayed, most of which I hadn’t played on my phone before. All the songs were rooted in scripture and most of the songs were ones my Dad played growing up. It was like an embrace. A hug from God. I sewed (I work in the costume shop) and let my eyes tear up, crying inside as I thought about my sadness and God’s goodness. His faithfulness and grace. 

I finished work early and my mom texted me: “Praying for you. The Lord of Hosts is with you.” I recognized that phrase from Psalm 46, which I had read earlier that day at her suggestion. It also immediately made me think of a worship song. I googled the lyrics until I found the song. And as I started to play it, I realized my mom had sent me the link to the same song. God is good. 

So I played it on repeat. 

“Lord of Hosts, You're with us

With us in the fire

With us as a shelter

With us in the storm

You will lead us

Through the fiercest battle

Oh, where else would we go

But with the Lord of Hosts

Oh, God of Jacob, fierce and great

You lift Your voice to speak

The earth, it bows

And all the mountains move into the sea

Oh Lord, You know the hearts of men

And still you let them live

Oh God, who makes the mountains melt

Come wrestle us and win

Oh God, who makes the mountains melt

Come wrestle us and win…”

Lord, come wrestle me and win. 

I’ve been reflecting on grace a lot lately. 

I’m fascinated by how ugly and wretched I am and yet how God uses me to create beauty. So often in life we fill ourselves with self-loathing, judgment, and anxiety and mask it with self-love Instagram posts, self-help books or angry rampages blaming society or the government for our screwed up understanding of our worth. 

But that in and of itself is a screwed up understanding of our worth. The problem with these ideas is they are rooted in our selves. “Self” help, “self” love, etc. 

If my worth comes from myself, I am screwed. Do you know how many mistakes I have made? How much pride and selfishness exist in my heart? My inability to control everything no matter how much I desperately try and fail? I cannot know everything. I am utterly incapable of loving myself fully. Of helping myself when my emotions collude my brain or I’m drowning in anxiety. 

But God?

God’s love is perfect. And abundant. And free. 

His grace overwhelms my soul. 

He created this imperfect mess before you. Well, sin made me imperfect but He made this work of art in progress. He knows my sinful parts. He made anything in me that is good and beautiful. And He is redeeming me each day. Working through my cracks and scars to make something beautiful. Filling me with His grace. His love that I don’t deserve. He is my strength in times of trouble. He is with me in the fire and the battle. A shelter in the storm.

Sometimes, I am comforted by these verses. 

Other times, I think, life feels really hard right now, but it’s not a fire, surely God is busy elsewhere. But if He is omnipresent, then I don’t think He is turning away from me because life isn’t as hard as it could be. He is with me when I drop my special mandarin oranges, the snack that was gonna get me through the day. He is with me when I’m anxious over a school project or my suddenly bursting schedule. He is with me when the tears lamenting my old life at home and the grief of missing my family overtakes me. These may not be the end of the world, but they are really hard sometimes. Even losing my oranges. 

God is with us in the fire. And He is with us when we are tired and just wanna give up. 

He is with us when we are so over our freaking 8ams. And He’s with me when the barista remembers my coffee order. When my YouTube music auto plays the scripture I need to hear. When a friend offers an unexpected hug. 

Praying you be reminded of the peace of God today. The Lord of Hosts is with you.

Sincerely,
    Sophi

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch, like me..."

p.s. here's another grace song to listen to. Broken Vessels. Sang it in the shower today.