Thursday, February 28, 2013

Grace Falls


I hear the sounds echoing through the house.  Deafening.  Wrestling siblings.  And the cackles and giggles end in the wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Just like it always does.  Baby Girl emerges victorious this time.  Bubbs screaming louder than usual.  He claims an injury to his arm, pain inflicted by his older sister.  Or at least this is what I gather between gasps for air as I make out his sister’s name every fifth word.  And he’s not moving his arm. At all.  So we wait. 

Hours later, he’s still not moving it.  I contemplate the emergency room.  But it’s still not swollen.  It’s not black and blue.  And we are still paying for the staples that mended his head whole from the last injury.  So a quick conference with the Chef and it’s decided.  Wait.  And see. 

While we wait, a snow storm moves in. I watch the round flakes fall soft to the earth.  A storm always seems to start quiet.  I scan the landscape and watch the quiet beautiful falling straight from heaven.  It’s raining mercy on this dry land.  And as this frozen wonder tumbles favor, the wind moves in sharp, sure. And it spreads winter grace furiously.  When it’s all said and done, this stark white gift covers the ugly barren land clean, new.  And it gathers to fill the empty plum full.  Amazing grace is a sweet sound, but it’s also a sweet sight.  I take in the fresh landscape and I try desperately to sear my heart with the image.  This is what He has done for me.  Taken the ugly, unspeakable and made it into something beautiful, new, presentable.  The crimson stain now white as snow.  Amazing, this grace he lays over us.


The storm comes.  And it goes.  And Bubbs, he’s still not moving his arm.  So we head to the doctor.  The gifts are still raining favor.  An early appointment with our doctor and a clear driveway thanks to the Chef who pumps Alaskan blood and shovels while it’s still snowing.  The doctor is quick in his assessment.  Nurse-maid’s elbow.  A dislocation of sorts and a quick flick of the forearm should set it back right.  I try not to throw up on the doctor and I hear little after he says “dislocation”.  Clearly I’ve seen too many movies.  I wonder if my “Boy Mom” card is waiting at the front desk or if they’ll just send it in the mail.  I decide not to ask.

The doctor takes hold of his arm and Bubbs is already whimpering.  I take my position next to him and tell him to look at me.  I whisper all the mama things I can think to say.  I see the doctor flinch and Bubbs starts crying loud.  Dislocation located.  The doctor leaves me to my mama work and I grip Bubbs close.  And his tears are falling fast and the crying is turning to screaming and I do the only thing I know to do.  The only thing that has calmed either of my children since they were babies. 

I sing. 

Amazing Grace.  

And somehow, he thinks the sound is sweet.  A grace all its own.  And as I sing this familiar hymn, my parched soul is drenched by each carefully chosen word, quenched by the grace-ringing truth of it all. 

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound.” 

And as the next line rolls off my tongue, “that saved a wretch like me”, I drink in every rich syllable, take hold of the truth again. And I beg God that I can hold on to it this time. On my own, I am a wretch.  I can do no better than that.  But grace. Amazing grace and this wretch can dwell in the shelter of the Most High.  How can this be?

 I’m still singing and he stopped heaving breaths and crying tears verses ago.  He’s calm, drinking in grace with me as I sing.  He gently reaches for his sister, whispers her name, the one that put him on that table needing his bones reset.  He extends his hand to her, extending grace.  And the amazing comes when she reaches back.  Let’s herself be held by us all.  Accepts the grace offered.


And I see it again, right there in that moment. The grace that falls on us, it’s not to be collected and stored but poured out fast and sure, spreading like the furious wind to those around us.  Generously give this unmerited favor that falls on us all – hand it out every chance I get.  Because after all, I am only a wretch.  And yet,  He has clothed me in garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness.” 

Lord, may I never withhold the grace you have given.  May I never be stingy with life-saving, heart-healing unmerited favor.  Unmerited.  May I always remember the depths of the slimy pit You pulled me out of, deeper than most and still not beyond Your reach. And, Lord, when I forget these things, because You know I will, may I never forget Your grace falls still, making all things new. Amen.


  1. Nurse maid's elbow, ugh! I went through it four times with my daughter - still makes me want to throw up. (It's been 8 years since the last time)

    Your words on grace are beautiful, thank you for how practical you make it - "not to be collected and stored but poured out fast and secure, spreading like the furious wind to those around us. Generously give this unmerited favor that falls on us all - hand it out every chance I get. Because after all, I am only a wretch." Such statements of truth about grace. His grace.

    1. Thank you for your sweet encouragement, April! Yes, I didn't realize how common nurse maid's elbow is... we made it 8 years without an incident so I guess I'll count that a blessing! Four times!?! Yikes!

  2. fiercely missing the Fischer clan. dislocates and all. thank you for sharing. and thank you for the reminder of what He has done in my life. in your life. in the lives of all of us who have accepted Him. from filthy rags to glorious riches. in the twinkling of an eye.

    1. Love your words here. Somehow I missed them. Missing you lots too... counting down until September and hoping God makes a way. Love you !