Whatever we’ve been through and whatever is to come, it’s all grace, says Joshua Luke Smith
My grandfather, Tiggy, was a toastmaster. His words would gather us - a room full of chaos and conversation - into a shared moment of meaning. A good toast, like a prayer or song, gives language to our longing to belong; to be part of a tribe or a story larger than ourselves.
Last night, my wife and I sat around a table with four friends and raised our glasses, acknowledging the year that’s been and anticipating the one to come. That table was laden with wine and food, but also held our shared wounds: disappointment, depression, relapses and uncertainty. We raised our glasses like swords, our toast becoming a battle cry, a lament and a declaration of victory all at once.
The burdens we carried - the lump that she found, the debt that weighed on us, the ache of parenthood and the opportunities missed - felt suspended beneath a cheap, drooping plastic banner: “All is Grace”. I first encountered those words in the title of Brennan Manning’s memoir. Manning described grace as “indiscriminate compassion”, not cheap but free, flowing to the lowest parts of us.
Grace isn’t just a get-out-of-jail card; it’s an invitation to rediscover ourselves and the life we were created to live. Grace finds us in the most ordinary moments. It doesn’t fix everything, but it makes everything matter. It reminds us that if any of it matters, all of it does.
The summer we lost a friend to cancer we hosted a dinner with friends who loved her as we did. It felt strange to gather in such pain, but also right. We shared stories, laughter, tears and, eventually, we raised our glasses.
If anyone had seen us that evening, they might have wondered what we were celebrating. The answer: everything. This is the life we’ve been given, with all its heartbreak and joy, drenched in the grace that declares: “It all belongs”.
We must dose our daily lives in the gasoline of grace, for a soul that’s soaked in mercy only needs a spark of wonder to go up in flames. Grace reminds us that we’ll never be good enough, and why would we ever want to be? When goodness has been so perversely defined by our own striving and self-sufficiency. Imperfection and dependency are the only entrance points to grace. Hallelujah.
Paul heard his Lord say: “My grace is sufficient…my power is made perfect in your weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9) and then walked out his days with a limp and a spring in his step. That’s what happens when you’re broke, bored and you’ve hit rock bottom, but you’re known and you’re beloved. You walk around on the edge of tears, winded by your sense of belonging.
So raise your glasses. It’s here that we begin: washing dishes and planning funerals, changing nappies and working a job we loathe. At the table, with distracted family members and disheartened friends, we let it all out. This is the main event, the one life we have been gifted to live and it is drenched in grace that reaches down and announces defiantly: “You are only getting started.”
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