The Subtly of Grace -

I could call it all a coincidence.

Grace is so subtle.

These things are so missable - they wash over me - like water through my fingertips. Slipping away, uncatchable.

I asked God for pink roses. On Sunday, they covered the altar.

That song I've been praying with, my friend played on repeat all weekend long.

I've been trying to solve house problems. A few days ago, I was on the phone with my parents, brainstorming how we would uncover plumbing issues. Just then, a guy showed up ready to take a look in my crawl space for termites. I didn't know he was coming. While he was at it, he found the plumbing issues, told me who to call, then left. All is now solved.

I've decided blue jays were a sign; now they fly around my yard, hints of blue spotted through my office window.

My friend put something in the mail for me—a St. Francis plaque. I had just asked for his intercession. Her message hit like a timely reminder, "You are heard. You are heard. You are heard.

I thought to myself, "Wow, my driveway looks so bad." The next day, I walked out to see it was newly paved.

I laughed in the confessional, as the priest mentioned my favorite saint.

They emailed me the day after I quit my job. "We heard about you," they said, "we need your help."

The butterflies swirled my head and landed on my car, at the very moment I needed it most.

There is an undercurrent to this. I can't quite put my finger on it. Life with God is so mysterious but at the same time, obvious.

The angels have listening ears. They are plumbing the depths of my passing thoughts. It could be a coincidence, but something tells me it isn't.

It's almost like it's true - You hem me in. Behind and before - every thought handled by the care of heaven's helping hands.

May I walk around and more often think, "God, you keep up with me. You want to hear about and help me with everything."

I want to mark these passing graces and always say, “God, that was you. I see you. You are seeing me."

I pray you spot the miraculous this week.

C