So very thankful that His grace is indeed grace, given freely in expression of His righteousness, His goodness, His love. I've been such a screw-up, and if my past is any indication, I will continue to be so. Hope lies in that: 1) Because of who He is and who He is making me, my past is in fact no indication, and 2) Even if I fall to the very depths, still He will save me— it's what He's already done. Staggering as it is, because of Christ's sacrifice, justice requires that God's grace abound to me.
The smell of sandwiches on the small grill (an iron giant precursor to George Foreman's version) wafts up to my nose as I sit at Victrola's bar. Not entirely unpleasant, though I'm far from hungry.
Many friends in my thoughts and prayers this day, another sign of His Spirit. Left to my own devices, I'd be a brooding, self-absorbed lump. He tugs my heart elsewhere, in directions I'd not have the courage to go.
(Truth be told, however, I'm dead sexy when I brood...)