Faith's hair is finally growing back (she pulled a lot out as a newborn). In this dry climate we occasionally rub in a little oil. This leads to a trip to the sink since the oil prefers my hands more than Faith's hair.
As I listened to a great sermon on Sunday about God's grace, I thought that grace must also be slippery stuff; it's so hard for me to hold onto from week to week. As if grace was a greased pig scampering around the pin while I chased hard after it, occasionally touching it but never getting a good hold.
But that's backwards, isn't it? It's me that's greasy, like my hands after I tend to Faith's hair. I realize most Sundays that somehow I've gone and lost my grip on grace again. But the relief comes when I see that it is grace that has a strong hold of me. And I will never slip through His fingers.