Call it grace.

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This image popped up on my feed last night, and it was exactly what I needed to see. The words are by Morgan Harper Nichols, who is in my book one of the cool ones. I will totally fangirl over her, and would love to have tea (or wine) with her on somebody’s front porch (mine or her’s) some day. I’m not sure if she’s ever had a plate of Nigerian jollof, but boy would I love to do the introductions. A full day with MHN…epic!

But I digress.

I’ve been hearing murmurs about a new normal. I see photos of design rendering for what public spaces will look like henceforth. I see the discomfort on faces walking through the aisle in grocery stores, and even on the streets. It’s like the sidewalks have somehow shrunk in size as we hurriedly pass each other, while holding our breaths.

It’s fair to say that the world is on edge. Like…

I saw photos of folks out on the beach celebrating Memorial day, and I was unsure how to feel. Should I be happy about the gathering of people, or should I be worried? Is this a step forward, or many steps back? Can I relax a bit now, or buckle up for a second wave?

Needless to say…

A lot is changing, and it’s coming at us fast. It sorta feels like we are on a high speed chase with life. We didn’t ask for this, much like most unsavory things in life, but here we are. The ride has been anything but joyful, but some have taken this as an opportunity to decompress, but maybe not really because of course there is the looming fear of what lurks in tomorrow.

It seems like we have no choice in the matter, but we do.

We are actually not as helpless as the enemy will have us think.

We get to determine the narrative on this dirt road.

We don’t have to crash and burn.

Look. Nothing about this is okay. I came across an article on NY Times, and just seeing the 100,000 names printed on the front page was overwhelming. I could care less if the numbers are skewed or not. I am more concerned about those that have lost. NY Times called it an ‘incalculable loss’, and I can’t but agree.

However, in the midst of this great loss, I know One who is greater. This isn’t feel good rhetoric. It’s truth. No matter how dark the night gets, the sun blooms. It peaks at dawn, then rises. Ever so radiant. Weeping may tarry in the night, but joy comes in the morning |Psalm 30:5|. I hate, hate, haaaaaate the weeping part, but I know that I can endure because He has promised me grace. Grace that is sufficient. Grace that buoyantly shows His power made perfect in my weakness as I trudge through this muddy, tyrannical pit of a pandemic.

His grace is the seat-belt that has kept me securely strapped in.

So my hope for you is this; through all that has changed, and all that is not the same, may you see all by grace, light is pouring in anyway.

I hope that you continue to put your weight on Him.

His shoulders are strong enough to bear it, yours, mine and the worlds’.

Happy monyaaaaaaaaay!

xo

Mel.

Picture:- @pinterest