How Grace Looks Today

Yesterday I wrote this:

Really, it isn’t fair to blame the coffee. It helped. But something about the balmy afternoon stirred those feelings. Like I was fourteen again and walking in the door of the old Stone House. It was something peaceful and precious and happy.
Today I keep having memories about school days.
Jacob abusing my stuffed monkey. Putting lines on the freshly packed snow that was to be his kitchen floor, with my white rubber boots with the pink trim on top—and how upset he was with me for it.
The time LeeAnne and I were goofing around and she ended up with a bloody finger. I was so grossed out I didn’t let on because she’d have made me look at it. I told her later.
We hid from Mr. Zook one time too. Why were we so mean to him?
The time I desperately wanted to go to school in spite of feeling like I maybe had the stomach flu that was going around. I ended up flying down the center isle of the church auditorium to get to the bathroom in time to throw up. We were doing program practice that morning.
The time I burped, very loudly, to Miss Mast and LeeAnne’s horror—and my own actually.
The year we were still playing soft ball in December.
The heavy snow in March one year and how Dad just drove in the lane, through that heavy snow in his big truck, and dropped me off at the school house door. Mr. Zook seemed noticeably perturbed that it would have the nerve to dump three feet of snow in the middle of March.
The time I poked Heather and got caught. Honestly, Mr. Zook, I was ALWAYS good when you were out of the room. That was the first time I ever did that—I got tired of being good all the time. Then I got busted.
I also got busted the time LeeAnne ran into me at the scoring table and whispered, “I can’t make wide turns.” I replied, “You’re crazy.” Miss Mast made us write what we’d said fifty times. I don’t blame her really. We weren’t in the habit of not whispering at the scoring table.
Miss Mast once put me smack between Eric and Elvie (is that still what he goes by?) when we rearranged offices. It was an effort to help me be more diligent—because I was not a diligent student—but it didn’t necessarily eliminate distraction. I periodically had offerings of eraser bits delivered to me from beneath the divider. I didn’t particularly mind the seating arrangement, but I could always tell which one of them had won  the soft ball game at recess. They weren’t usually on the same team. The loser always had to bang around in his desk quite loudly for a few minutes to let off steam. I trust they’ve both overcome this tendency.
Mr. Zook once gave me a C+ on my report card for Phys. Ed. I have since forgiven him.
There was the time we girls decided to do a bread baking contest. Mine won because the judge apparently had a tendency for doughy bread. This was totally unfair to Esther and even at the time I was miffed because it wasn’t a fair contest.
As I sit here writing this my hubby is messaging me. We’re working through some hard stuff this week. I read some, I write some. Two different stories. I find myself incredibly thankful for the stability and happiness of my childhood. I find a kind of refuge in the memories today. I don’t know if that’s good or not. But I thank God for these memories. I thank God that the grace that has been there for me all the days until now,and  will continue to go with us through the future. That whatever happens in this story today, His grace will be just as loving as it was to me as a child. Even if it feels hard today. Because He is the same, yesterday, today and forever. Here we must stand, or like Peter, we sink.
It helps to know that my Mom’s dining room still looks like this:

I guess right now, her pretty table is my reminder of the grace of God which is still available and as sure as ever. Now to live in that promise.