Sunday’s Grace

Some days, grace is hard to find.

I looked for it at church, and I’m sure it was there, but I could not find it.

I looked for it in my son, but somehow missed it.

I looked for it in the police officer who pulled me over this morning, but it definitely was. not. there.

So where? I questioned myself.

And at 2:37 PM in my living room, I found it. Rather, recognized it.

It was in my husband.

I had looked in on him, to find him awake instead of sleeping after working all night. I brought the baby and we curled up with him, listening to baby chatter. I explained to my tired, overworked husband that I had been pulled over on the way to mass and had gotten a ticket.

He could have grown angry. He could have become frustrated that with our budget so tight a ticket would mean an additional burden.

Instead he laughed and asked me what I had done.

And there it was. A small grace. A husband who forgave me before he even knew the specifics of what I had done.

I’m glad I took the time to look for it.

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