Grace Quenched

Cubes of ice shattered as I pulled back the frosty lever of the aluminum ice tray. In a rumble, the ice tumbled over into a plastic bin. Then I cracked the next. The routine was: open all the trays, refill with water, and replace them in the freezer so they would be ready for the next meal. Leaving them out on the counter was a sin.

Where I grew up in the South, we drank tea one way-----sweet and cold. It didn’t matter the season.

On Sunday after church, our family always gathered at my Grandma’s house for dinner. Dinner was the noon meal on Sunday. It amazes me that she prepared such an abundant meal for so many all by herself.

When we were old enough, the granddaughters would fill the glasses from the ice bin and carry big thick goblet-like glasses to the table filled to the brim with iced tea.

I remember well being sent back to the kitchen by Grandpa to get more ice. I looked at his glass and knew we had filled it full with cubes before we poured. He always asked for more. So off I went and came again to fill his glass, the added cubes floating over the rim. When he drew the tea up to his mouth, I know the ice touched the tip of his nose. He wanted to feel the cold. And not just as it flowed down to quench his thirst, he wanted to feel the cold touch of ice, breathe in the chill.

I hear people using the word grace a lot. It drops in the glass like cubes of ice from their mouths, but I don’t see the passion behind the word. They don’t fill enough to feel it. It floats around in the glass. They drink it in to quench a need but never feel its power. Offer others a sip. Often it is excused. Thanks, but no thanks.

To be alive is to be touched by Grace.

Grace so real that it sends shivers down the spine. Grace so known and appreciated, accepted that it floats to the top, satisfies like nothing else.

The man in the gray Dickies, who lived through being orphaned, illiteracy, and the Great Depression was meeting needs in his life through that ice---quenching an unmet thirst that was his long before I became a part of his story.

Grandpa did not take that ice for granted.

Peter filled with grace to its fullest. Don't you know he hated the sound of a rooster's crow? Or maybe, he loved it because it reminded him of how much grace He was granted. Grace to the fullest measure.

Take this in today, a big cool drink of Peter’s great encouragement:

….May grace and peace be yours in the fullest measure.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to His great mercy has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to obtain an inheritance which is imperishable and undefiled and will not fade away, reserved in heaven for you, who are protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you greatly rejoice, even though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been distressed by various trials, so that the proof of your faith, being more precious than gold which is perishable, even though tested by fire, may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ; and though you have not seen Him, you love Him, and though you do not see Him now, but believe in Him, you greatly rejoice with joy inexpressible and full of glory, obtaining as the outcome of your faith the salvation of your souls.   (1 Peter 1:2-9 NASB)

Today, I am feeling the weight of Peter’s words. Covered with goose-bumps, I shiver as I pick up a cup dripping condensation, grace filled, and thirst quenching.

So thankful that the wind of the Spirit has passed my way.


Taking the Joy Dare with Ann:

- memories of Easter past with purses, hats and white gloves
- pound cake with local stawberries
- timid baby steps that cause the grandparents to applaud
- flower pots planted
- patches of filtered sun under the pines
- azaleas showing off pink and coral
- photos of our new grandchild, a girl being woven, beautiful in her mother’s womb


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