A Place Called Grace

 

I read a great post by Kelly Balarie. The phrase she turned started me thinking, she spoke of moving to grace as if it were a place and it is. A place Jesus prepared for us so long ago. Oh, it is heaven, someday. Heaven on earth is possible too, for those who can mange to break the boundaries of fear.

My house was in the city, I never liked the crime, the pollution, the traffic. But I loved Atlanta, because it was home. It was rich in history, art and had wonderful place to shop. When I move to the suburbs, it was like moving to the boondocks. Not a streetlight in sight. And it got dark. The lights that were mine to enjoy in the city, were reduced to a floodlight that barely allowed you to find the trash can. I missed fireworks over the stadium. The buildings that lit the skyline. Now, on occasion the big cheesy colored moon would bend down over the backyard. So close, you could almost touch it. But this wasn’t Grace, either. Though both places carried me through and there was a lot of grace.

I want to move to grace. So where is it? It is anywhere Jesus is, and He is with me. So grace is not a place but a state of mind, knowing His love and forgiveness. Knowing that I am the beloved and He approves of me but will correct me, and I can handle that for what He instills is for my good, not to harm me. Ahh, but if grace were a place…..

The cherry blossoms would be blooming, over streets with cookie cutter houses, gingerbread molding, and white picket fences. The sidewalks are safe to walk, and parks are at each end of the block. There are pavillions and picnic tables, friends and families having lunch. The smell of roses will blow into the summer breeze and mix fragrantly with jasmine and honeysuckle. They are lingering in the air until you come to a field of wildflowers.

And the wildflowers cascade over green hills and valleys, butterflies chase each other and ducks waddle to the pond. Children lay on those hills and picture all sorts of creatures in the clouds, grown ups come to join them. The sky is full of colored birds, and the sun is warm on your face, it melts the pie at the corners of your mouth or makes the watermelon stickier.

Lemonade is always on the table and iced tea, peach iced tea, if Grace is in the south. You can write your own version. Off in the distance are lavish old Victorian houses and porch swings. Places where there are still old door knockers, or doorbells you turn, wrought iron fences. More roses, growing over a trelis and aunties baking cookies.

There is laughter when the heat of the day causes someone to turn on a fire hydrant, but just for a while. There are barbecues and potato salad and grills that fired up toward the evening. People take brisk walks, they have no reason to run, and a late afternoon rumble of thunder, brings a summer storm that comes and goes and cools off the evening a bit.Just in time for the bands to play, the ice cream to be churned and for those in love to go for a carriage ride. As darkness blankets the night, the fireworks put on a show and the the stars take over, our Father’s handiwork.

Yes, Grace sounds like a town out a movie, storybook or even a musical, like the 1890’s, or 1940’s. I suppose it could be whatever peace your heart desires, It is the place God wants to make it. I read people’s answers to a question about heaven, they may vary, but grace is the same, restful, peaceful place. The folks who live there are lovely to spend time with.

I moved away from Atlanta, and I’ll probably move from Jackson, but I am definitedly moving from fear, failure, heartache and break, I don’t even need a moving van or boxes. I’m moving to Grace. It’s a nice to visit and you’d really want to live there. Rebecca Jones