At the ends of good days I sit and worry myself trying to think of words appropriate for posting. As though my lack of words somehow differs from all my other lackings. (And I am sufficient nowhere.) As though God has grace enough for all my larger insufficiencies, but not for this one. As though my not writing anything might cause His perfect plans to fray.
But it is always and only grace that I write anything at all. Always and only grace that what I write says anything to anyone — He could encourage you without my words. And it is grace tonight that let me see it, let me laugh at my foolishness, gave me words to write in spite of myself.
Because I am not enough, and you are not enough, but His grace is sufficient. He does not measure out grace for only those needs which we select for Him to handle; He pours the grace down to cover all the parts we like to think we manage ourselves. So that when we find ourselves not managing them, we also find that grace has already covered our frayed edges, even before we knew they were frayed.
We find that we can rest.