I spent most of the weekend with my dear friend at her family farm. With her fresh loss and my old hurts and stings we needed a long walk, a trip to the farmer’s market, a good bookstore and a strong iced coffee in the afternoon. We needed to pick blackberries and eat them right off the bush. And to dine on nothing but potato chips that first night, talking fast.
The next day, rested, we served fresh corn from the farm in the perfect purple bowl found in a quaint shop. We mixed tomatoes and goat cheese and let all the freshness of it soothe us.
And then we took a long walk with our dogs.
Because what we both needed the most was all this open space for the memories that lingered.
And we needed to rememberhow Grace moves.
This is Grace.
I would have taken video of her, but she runs at mock speed, darting in and out of the woods, into any body of water, and 500 yards ahead of the rest of the dog pack. And us. She’s a blur. Grace chases.
She goes where she isn’t supposed to go. Down hills and into ponds and bounding off into the woods where snakes and other threats are hidden.
My friend warns her to stay on the path. But Grace doesn’t listen. Grace doesn’t know there are rules. There are 5,000 acres spread out and I’m certain she has touched them all.
And when Sunday comes I want to stay here where it is comfortable and beautiful. Where tall pines are transformed into crosses by the morning light. Where the dew on the hydrangeas washes away the evening.
But it’s time to take the road home.
And as I turn for home I pray a very simple prayer. “ Father, may I go after grace like that sweet dog, with wild abandon and boundless energy.” Because that dog named Grace chases.
“And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.” 2 Cor 9:8
I do not at all understand the mystery of grace – only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us. ~Anne Lamott