We consider it good. We consider it grace.
What then? What is good, what is grace when horror invades sight, screams pierce ears, the uncomfortable scratches skin, and thirst lingers still? The soul lying in hunger? Where is good? Where is grace? Where is God?
Do they run? Do they remain in one place waiting to be found?
Or are they there? The whole time? Every time? Ever present?
Are they always there waiting for the wonderment, the picture to be fully seen? To the promise sweetly whispered in the ear? The searching, scratching to the softness of cashmere underneath? To the soul resting with the Life Source?
By God's Grace . . . God is good . . . The praises uttered when life is right, when bow-wrapped gift is handed over.
Why me? Are there praises proclaimed in the curves of those letters? On the lips of the spoken?
Why is Why Me? not uttered when gift enters, when the hands tear off bow, unwrap and receive?
Is the goodness and the grace, seen . . . spoken when the harshness overwhelms?
Why not me?
We think we do not deserve crumbs, brokenness, scarred hearts.
Why then do we think we deserve wholeness, beauty, dreams?
If we did nothing to deserve the ugly, what then, did we ever do to be able to behold the beauty?
Why not me?
In the end, it is all good, it is all grace - deserving none of it, but being able to hold and witness all of it - all because of grace. Because God is good.