Grace builds kinder, wiser lives.
As we admit our brokenness, we stand among the broken. When we confess why we need Christ’s forgiveness, we learn to offer others what He in mercy offers us.
Grace moderates our judgments, quiets over-eager tongues, and preserves us from the curse of always needing to be right.
Grace blesses all it touches, including everyone we touch in Jesus’ name. It is the surest sign that we were made for peace and fellowship.
So stay in grace.
When conscience first attacks our wrongs—when we’ve gushed hot and angry words; indulged in something bad for us; lied to our loved ones or ourselves—we cringe as though the sky will fall. Fear tells us—multiplied by guilt—mistakes are inexcusable; that we are irredeemable. But that’s when we must shout the gospel to ourselves, or find some kindly soul who knows it: “Christ Jesus came into the world tosavesinners—of whom I am the foremost” (I Tim 1:15). The only sin grace can’t erase is one you won’t let Christ forgive. Speak truth—and freedom—now to life. And stay in grace.
I am more convinced than I was 10 years ago that there is no righteousness apart from Christ.
I am more certain than I was a year ago that I have no righteousness of my own.
I am more persuaded than I was a month ago that all that Jesus wills for me will come to me by living in His grace.
I am more assured than I was a week ago that when the Father looks at me, He sees the loveliness of Jesus.
I am more confident than I was yesterday that grace will triumph in my story through Him whose power holds everything together.
And I will be more certain of these things tomorrow than I am today, because of Christ who began this work in me.
Join me in growing past our fears to confidence in Jesus. And stay in grace.
That moment when we trust ourselves to grace—haltingly, even tentatively—becomes the pivot of our everafter. Our looming fear reminds us always of our sins: it tempts us to believe that only righteous deeds can ever change the Father’s frown. But Scripture tells us we are deeply and unchangeably loved “while we were yet sinners,” before we knew to tidy up our act, behave accordingly, or polish our veneers. Jesus is the Father’s standing—kneeling, dying, rising—invitation to trust that love that will not let us go. Our Lord invites us to embrace the grace we never thought was meant for us, to revel in the long, essential kindness we will never deserve but may always enjoy. So stay in grace.
We commonly assume that grace is always “gracious”—quiet, not confronting, ever pleasant. But grace is rarely welcome news or even sweet to those intent on documenting their effort. Its greatest symbol—yes, the cross—is “foolishness” to those who stubbornly insist that their salvation hangs on prayers, on deeds, on penitential living. They stumble on the cross, for it completely blocks the self-willed way to heaven. Our hearts, unless reclaimed by grace, resist the gospel of salvation, for it proclaims our helplessness, our foolishness, our brokenness. But whom grace first offends, it offers finally Christ’s healing and His righteousness. Accept His grace—and stay in it.
When we accept the gift of grace, the Lord appoints—anoints—a company of friends to hold us and encourage us. It is the task of our discipleship to discover them, welcome their God-given role, and share the journey with them. Theirs is no accidental role, as though the Master lacked a plan: Jesus knows we need their faith. They may be near at hand but initially unknown; they may be longtime friends whose deep maturity is needed now. Jesus calls us one by one, but always sends us two by two. Pray to discern the godly friends the Saviour gathers ‘round you. And stay in grace.