I was explaining to a long-time accomplice that in my sister’s passing, I was trusting God to be the God of Grace.
Rachelle could describe herself as the “prodigal daughter.” IYKYK. Let’s just say, she squeezed a lot of life into that tiny, 54-year old body. Shoot, there was a TV show made about parts of it.
While she had received salvation and confirmed it on her death bed, she had not spent much time “measuring up” to our American church-going standard. The stuff of sanctification was slight.
Earlier this week, before her passing, I prayed for the God of Grace to meet Rachelle. That she would be welcomed by a God FULL of grace. That just this once, He may not check the tapes. There’d be no medical exam. That the God of Grace would welcome my lil’ sis.
My friend answer my statement with a two-word text:
God ran. Two words with so much power. The most powerful sentence maybe ever constructed. The Pronoun and a verb, of which there may not be more life, smile, power, or energy. God ran.
I shared these two words with a number of friends. One of them said, slyly, “We’ll, you can take that two ways, right?”
The words barely touched my ears, responding, “God’s character demands only one way.” (I probably said it more “preachy” then you are reading it).
God never runs away. If you turn toward Him, He always runs toward you. God is always and entirely The God of Grace.
We can try to get our arguments together like the young lost son of Luke 15, but God waits and watches. When you break the horizon, He runs, hugs, kisses, does not check the records or listen to your case. He throws a party.
That is what happened an Thursday afternoon at 3:15 p.m. A failing-kidney, racked-liver, hard-living blonde bombshell turned from this world to the next and she made no other move.