When wham—it hits us out of nowhere.
Arrogance.
Looking out the window, we see the man. And we laugh.
Oh, part of us tries not to.
But not hard enough.
That hurts.
When will pride die?
I’m just another sinner in need of everyday grace.
The man doesn’t see us on the other side of the glass. He is cleaning out a taxi cab. His brown toupee falls several inches short of his aging gray hair sticking out boldly underneath. His clothes are ragged. His appearance screams homeless.
We try not to stare, but this is the cab driver? Really? Is he competent to get someone from point A to point B? Does the cab company have no regulations on whom they hire? We make a mental note never to call this one.
Oh, how my God delights in my need of Him.
I crave His forgiveness.
He gives it.
My middle-class American haughtiness is ugly. Sin always is.
Granted, this man looks far from professional, but who’s to say he’s not the most capable, friendliest cab driver in town? And even if he’s not, he doesn’t deserve a group of women snickering behind his back because he wears a bad toupee.
He’s made in the image of God just like I am.
He wants peace and joy and happiness just like I do.
He was died for on the cross just like I was.
Oh, Lord. When will I grow humble?
When will I see and pray, instead of see and snicker?
When will your grace for me run dry?
Never.
Never?
Never.
Not at home.
Not in suburbia.
Not at Hardee’s.
His grace exceeds my sin.
I never know when His grace is going to hit me.
But may I catch it every time. And be changed by it.
~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~
Continuing my grace count to 1,000:
# 452—469
~ Grape jelly. Saturday mornings. Family that are friends.
~ Compassionate veterinarian. Our dog still alive. My husband back home.
~ Eye doctors. Eye drops. Good insurance.
~ Open mic night at church. Open hearts. Open prayers.
~ Cleared-up conversations. Plans a-go. God who answers.
~ Another chance.
~ Grace that never ends.
~ God who always forgives.
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