porchlight preacher

My husband preached to me last night.

I sat amongst the fireflies, on grass, to hear him talk. I watched his silhouette against the porch light where he stood to see his notes. A storm blew up to tickle his pages, but passed by west of us to rain on someone else.

This man of mine stood tall. No nervous pacing to and fro on concrete stage, though nervous he professed to be, and nervous was. His courage braced his knees. He would obey.

I loved him then. I smiled so he'd think to look at me and not his pages. Forgot I was to criticize and look for faults, and only listened. The truth he told, so old it's new, so good it's scarce believed on, is grace alone. To give up thinking we can earn our way to God, and only thank Him for the ticket.

It's hard to take a gift so big. We're “upside-down”, forever. The knowing makes us babes again, dependent. We always have been, anywayl – who makes this air we breathe? and freely grants us life? Not our own hands, for sure, but God above, whose love for us, unfathomably deep, draws us to Him, and Him to us through Christ.

He finishes, my husband. He asks me how he did. I tell him he'll be fine, to just forget himself and think the words he has to say.

God gives more grace.