I’ve fallen in love with grace. I love noticing the graceful way different creatures move: horses galloping over meadows, flying over log jumps and climbing mountain trails. I love the way their muzzles sink into cool water to drink, throats undulating with each swallow. I love the way they carry a rider and when that rider is so in tune with the horse that you cannot see where one begins and the other ends.
I love the grace of a full moon setting in the pre-dawn hours, glowing with the orange reflection of the coming sun. I love the sweet song of chickadee and dove, the crackle of a fire on a cold night and water cascading over rocks and logs and it rambles down the creek bed.
I love the grace of a two-cylinder engine firing to life with the help of the pony motor, the black smoke belching out as she pulls the plow through the thick stubble. I love the grace of prairie gold with red wheels flying down the road or easing over the five-mile-long bridge suspended two-hundred feet above the straits of Mackinac.
I love the quiet grace of words on a page, of tall
grasses weaving in waves with the wind, of mountain peaks rising to bright blue heavens, of baby calves kicking up their heels in pure joy, of young girls giggling late into the night, of music full of sweet harmony, of God who in the act of grace gives His very self to us.
Grace abounds whether we see it or not, but if we choose to see it, we are blessed beyond belief.