His grace.
And as a result, His freedom.
When we, as recipients of God’s grace—His “gift” (Ephesians 2:8)—realize just how many bobbles and blunders of ours He lovingly forgives and forgets every single day of our lives, we suddenly find our motivation for extending that same undeserved favor to those around us. His patience, His acceptance, His understanding, His kindness. By His grace, they become ours—not just to receive but to release.
And when the people in your home and your life know that you won’t look down on them or lord their inadequacies over them, you have given them a great gift. An overflow of the gift given to you. Grace. The gift of being able to stay authentic, knowing they’ll be accepted just as they are.
Isn’t that how you want to feel yourself? And isn’t that the kind of freedom you want others to experience in their relationship with you?
Every problem, every issue, every potential disaster, every family member’s weakness and failure, every less than desirable circumstance—when viewed through the lens of grace—becomes a fresh opportunity for extending mercy and kindness. Bestowing compassion. Seeing the best, even when the worst is front and center. Dispensers of grace are women who resolve to put candles on the table instead of sulking in the dark. Who let the people in their homes enjoy what they have instead of centering on what they don’t. Who don’t want people walking on pins and needles around them, always having to accommodate their emotional mood swings or cover up their own failures for fear of being misunderstood.
Who let peace reign.
Who let grace rule.
This woman resolves to make her home a safe place for her family and friends to find a haven from the world. Those who enter her doors find a serenity that grasps them, envelops them, soothes them, embraces them, drawing them in to dine around the table of peace and enjoy the company of those who are pleasurable to be around—because they’re accepting, grateful, grace filled.
It’s revolutionary.
I mean, didn’t grace utterly transform your life when Jesus gave it to you? If you were too young to know just how much of your life needed repair and repenting, hasn’t His grace brought you to worshipful tears more times than you can count in the years since? Grace overwhelms. Everywhere it appears. Just think what it might accomplish when it comes gushing through your smile, your hug, your kiss, your tender pat on the back, your wink of forgiveness. Even this place, even these people could be completely renovated into something you barely recognize a month from now.
Like you were, when Jesus graced your life.
So take a personal inventory. Are you easy to be around? Do you make it natural for your loved ones to feel accepted? Do you keep track of their mistakes and failures? When your family members do something with the intention of pleasing you, do they get to see a smile of gratitude brighten your face, or do you hardly even notice—won’t give them the satisfaction? Do you hold others captive to your critical nature? Do you play the martyr because of all you’re required to do?
Or . . .
Do you remember what Christ has done to cover every single, solitary failure of your life, freeing you from the bondage that would have kept you forever unsettled and unable to live abundantly? Do you eagerly express that same feeling of freedom to those in your home?
Give them a break.
I know they don’t deserve it.
But neither did you.
Grace came anyway.
• List three specific attitudes and actions that make grace palatable in someone’s home life that you admire, not just in their interaction with you as company but with one another as well?
• What do you feel will be the primary challenge for you in extending grace in your home? Be honest with God about this. Ask Him to “give you rest” and to let His “gentle and humble” heart be the one that comes shining through you (Matthew 11:28–29). It’s Him. Not you. That’s why they call it grace.
OK
Sometimes when I just say, “OK,” the walls come tumbling down. Those two little letters put an end to so many arguments. It’s amazing. Outside of calling on the name of Jesus Himself, I think this is the next most powerful word in our language.” —A thirty-one year-old woman resolved to live with grace
We like being right, and we want other people to agree that we are. That’s why one of the hardest things to do in life, in marriage, in our families, and in our homes is to resist the urge to flaunt that rightness. To win the argument. To send the other person away with his head hung in shame. We feel like our sentiments deserve the right to be heard, then understood, then agreed with and acted upon. And so we talk, and discuss, and quit listening, and run the other person down. Into the ground. Into submission.
Those on the periphery steer clear, tiptoeing around the edges of the tension, trying their best to evade commotion in a home that’s supposed to be their resting place. They feel marginalized and excluded, wondering how this is all going to work out.
All because everyone wants to be right.
But it won’t be right. Not until someone is bold enough, confident enough, courageous enough—gracious enough—to kindly, lovingly, carefully acquiesce and say . . .
“OK.”
To finish it. Once and for all. Not because their demands were met or their preferences catered to but because they prefer peace to madness. They desire restoration above discord. They want a home that feels full, not depleted and empty—a hollow shell that echoes long and hard with the loud racket and chaos of a fiery argument, then turns cold and icy, bristling from the biting sting of silent treatments.
One little OK makes the difference.
Now this is not some new age philosophy. It’s an ancient, scriptural sliver of venerated wisdom:
A gentle answer turns away anger, but a harsh word stirs up wrath. (Proverbs 15:1)
Truly the wise woman doesn’t always seek to be heard or validated but sometimes—in order to protect and preserve relationships, in order to invite peace back into her home—chooses a soft, delicate, gentle response in place of one that’s sharp and explosive, harmful and wounding. She is resolved not to tend the fire of quarrelsome conversations, knowing she’ll only be covered in its ashes long after the embers have burned out. She sees through the veneer of out-of-control temperaments and off-kilter comments, down to the reality of the circumstance, recognizing that the thing she’s making such a big fuss over is likely pretty small and insignificant in the grand scheme. She’s not about to lose the battle of her home over a tiny skirmish on a miniscule hill. She doesn’t stir the pot of people’s emotions just for the satisfaction of watching them cave under the mounting pressure. She is patient. She brings calm to the storm.
And that’s what makes her a picture of wisdom. And grace. Not a pushover. Not a doormat. She isn’t caving or being run over. Neither is she cocky or arrogant with her OK dismissal. There’s no air of sarcasm in her comment. No sinister smirk on her face. She’s just strong. God has produced enough courage in her to prefer the long-lasting sweetness of deference over the small, fleeting, unsatisfying victory of winning this momentary battle.
So.
She.
Says . . .
“OK.”
Not easily but purposefully, powerfully, poignantly.
She inhales. Exhales. Forces a gentle sigh and a smile, coming up from somewhere deeper than human strength has the mining rights to dig. Then with two simple letters, and one great big trust in God, she completely recalibrates this whole experience, not only for herself but for everyone involved—those she loves and is resolved to nurture.
“OK,” she whispers.
And in the end, she wins the greatest victory of all.
• Prayerfully consider how you can apply the message of these verses in your life today:
“A soothing tongue is a tree of life, but perversion in it crushes the spirit” (Proverbs 15:4 NASB).
“Patience can persuade a prince, and soft speech can break bones
” (Proverbs 25:15 NLT).
• Making this resolution a habit in your home will take time and practice. Resolve to use this little word, in this simple way, as much as you can in the next forty-eight hours. Record the impact it makes in your relationships.
Off Broadway
You’ve had the roles handpicked and the script written for a long time now. The happenings of each scene have been carefully calculated and then strategically rehearsed. You’re certain this theatrical masterpiece will be loved by everyone involved.
After all, it was written for their own good. Their own benefit.
So you rehearse it, over and over again, playing your own role and then filling in the gaps for everyone else—quoting what they’re supposed to say, the expressions they’re supposed to use, the intonation they’re supposed to reflect, the reactions they’re supposed to give. Every single actor has been allotted and accounted for as you exit the dressing room of your own bedroom each morning, clutching in your hand the high standards and detailed expectations for the players on the stage of your life.
There’s only one problem with this production.
No one other than you even knows that it exists.
The other actors never signed up to participate. They are unknowingly living their lives in a role they never agreed to play and didn’t realize they were expected to fill. But now the people who make up the regular cast of your life—husband, daughter, son, friend, parent—are enslaved by your expectations, held captive to roles you wrote for them without their consent. They’d like to be themselves, to experience the same freedom they find everywhere else. But here at home, going out of character can cost them dearly.
The crushed look on your face.
The stunned rejection in your response.
The disapproval resonating from your voice.
It’s clear you’ll not stand for anyone messing with this production, this script, this play of yours. And so they don’t. They play along. They have to. You’ll have it no other way. But in the process, they lose themselves. They forget who they really are. They learn to live without their freedom, their authenticity, ultimately their joy.
They just do your bidding. It’s easier that way.
But not so with the woman of grace.
She recognizes and admits that, yes, she has a predetermined plot line for her life and surroundings, a compilation of past experiences and make-believe notions. We’ve all done this to some degree—written out the script of our lives. We’ve brought our expectations into this relationship, into this situation, into this arrangement of circumstances. We haven’t exactly been forthcoming with everybody about everything we’ve written, but that’s mainly because we didn’t really know we had these expectations until we were actually living in this home situation. Now that we’re here—now that this is our reality—our expectations have come through loud and clear, stark and startling, bold and bright.
And it’s going to take a real woman of grace to slip out of the director’s chair and release the people in her home from the fantasy world she’s created.
Once we get really honest with ourselves, it’s not so hard to see the damage our assumptions have caused. They are the flame smoldering underneath much of the conflict, tension, and dissent that resides in our home. So the woman resolved to live with grace, while not lowering her expectations, does intentionally recalibrate them. Rather than basing them on a fantasy delusion and forcing everyone else to fit in, she looks at her reality first and then shapes her expectations accordingly. She seeks to discern the true needs of her loved ones and then adapts her own view of things so that she can do what is best for them, nurturing an atmosphere in which they can genuinely flourish.
This is what grace does. It releases, frees, relaxes, unbridles. Allows room, loosens nerves, gives permission, expresses acceptance. One preacher described grace as an oil that lubricates friction and relieves tension. It is the WD-40 of life that eases rigidity and soothes the squeaky hinges. Grace is the smile that everyone you love is waiting to receive from you . . . so that they can finally be themselves around you.
It’s time for this fantasy stage to fade to black. The lights and glamour just aren’t ours to command anymore. Who wants them? We want authenticity more than scripted story lines. We desire genuine relationships and a relaxed atmosphere instead of all these painted faces and nervously protected conversations. We want life—real life—showered by a powerful, potent, palatable peace.
A woman resolved to grace can have exactly that.
• Do you have a Broadway play in your mind? If so, how have you seen your family negatively affected by your expectations?
• Do you feel as though adjusting your expectations will amount to lowering them? Why?
• What other people, television shows, or outside influences are contributing to the fantasy world you’re attempting to force-fit onto your reality? How can you temper their effect on you?
• If you’re the one being held hostage by someone else’s demands and directives, how could you respectfully communicate your concerns and feelings and carefully navigate the situation so that you can experience freedom?
Sabbath Spaces
When subfreezing temperatures, mixed with all kinds of wintry precipitation, surprised Dallas for four straight days one unusual February, snow and ice laced the roads and bridges, causing schools and businesses to remain closed for a full week. My three little boys were home from school, bouncing off the walls and relishing the rare opportunity to stay up late and get up even later. Families all over the area were forced inside while the city’s road crews did their best to make travel safe.
Sure, we’d seen snow before. You may find it laughable how a couple inches of snow (or even just the threat of it!) can bring a Southern city to a standstill. But this particular snow was hard on us. Generally speaking, we’re just not prepared for this kind of cold. Few people around here have the outerwear required to brave long stints outside.
So for the most part everyone was indoors enjoying the uncommon opportunity to escape the daily grind, relax, and spend some stolen moments with the people they love and live with.
Right?
Mmmm . . . maybe not.
While tucked inside my house those cold, snowy days, I ran across this headline from a news story posted online: “Dallas/Ft. Worth Stricken with Cabin Fever.” The article went on to post the comments of local people suffering extreme bouts of claustrophobia—feeling holed up, bored, and out of touch with the world.
Listen to this . . .
“Snow. Ice. Single-digit temps. Could plague of locusts be far behind?”
“No school again tomorrow! I think I’m going to go nuts being stuck in this house!”
“This has ruined what was going to be a fantastic week. And it’s made me now use two of my floating holidays.”
“Well, isn’t this neat. . . . All the electricity on my block just went out! Great. So now you can add ‘trapped at home with no electricity’ to the list! Fantastic.”
My goodness. You’d think that being made to stay at home and enjoy the rest and relaxation that so often eludes us would be—I don’t know, a gift?—a delightful interruption to our otherwise overcrowded schedules? And yet according to the headline of this article, people feel “stricken.” Bored and anxious to get back to the busyness.
That really says something, doesn’t it? Are we so addicted to constant movement (even to our stress!) that we just don’t know how to relax anymore? Are we so driven to performance and perfection that we can’t see any value in a slowly paced day? Have we grown so accustomed to having no peace that we truly can’t appreciate the beauty of it, even when given not only the opportunity to enjoy it but no other viable alternative? Worse yet, what are we showing the next generation—that there’s nothing at all attractive about stillness, simple fun, and family time?
The woman resolved to live with grace rebels against our culture’s resistance to rest. She understands that pe
ace can only be experienced in her home if she purposefully creates margins to help herself and her family at least occasionally part ways from the hectic, demanding cycle of their usual activities. So she takes responsibility for planning deliberate opportunities for the age-old disciplines of rest and quiet. She is convinced that to “be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10 KJV) remains the most likely way for her and those she loves to sense His presence in her home.
I believe this principle is precisely what was on God’s mind when He gave detailed instructions for Moses to relay to His beloved children of Israel. After nearly four hundred years of constant, grueling, daily servitude to Pharaoh in Egypt, this chosen generation had finally tasted freedom. And in the shower of God’s deliverance, they were given (among others) this notable instruction . . .
“Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.” (Exodus 20:8)
“Sabbath” is from the Hebrew word Shabbat, meaning “stopping” or “cessation.” God was requiring His people to do something exactly opposite from what they’d grown used to doing. Instead of endlessly working, one day after another, engaging in every demanded activity, they were to stop—to purposefully carve out time to be still and enjoy Him—to celebrate a time of rest, rejuvenation, and spiritual focus that would perpetuate their experience of freedom, not just in theory but in the most practical terms. In other words, the Sabbath principle was the total reverse of the slavery they had already experienced in Egypt and a protection against sliding into bondage of another form.
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