There is a line in the Sara Groves song Add to the Beauty that says, “Redemption comes in strange places…”  This has been true in my life.  I’ve experienced some of the most poignant moments of grace in unlikely places, most recently in a county jail. 

I recently visited a friend in jail.   When I go to visit him the guards are rude.  They treat the visitors as if we are criminals, ordering us around and getting frustrated when we don’t go through the motions right.   About a month ago I had a minor run in with one of the sheriffs when I made a suggestion.  This put him out and he quickly put me in my place, cutting me down with his words.  His response took me aback and I found myself cowering inside, embarrassed and hurt.  I don’t expect to find grace in jail.

I did expect to find grace at a recent community event.  Our community is all about giving and dignity and sharing.  But I got tripped up.  I blew it.  I made a mistake and I hurt a friend’s feelings.  I apologized.  And I expected to be received with understanding and forgiveness but I wasn’t.  “How can I make amends,” I asked?  “You can’t, I am giving you a hard time because you deserve it,” she replied.  With that I walked away.  I didn’t know what else to say. 

“You deserve it!” rang in my ears and reached my heart.  I supposed I did deserve to feel badly.  You reap what you sow.  Perhaps this was me reaping all those times I’ve sown wanting others to know how upset I am.  She was right, I did deserve it.  And I felt it.  I felt helpless to make things better.  There was nothing to do.  The damage had been done. 

Most of the time I am well aware of what I deserve.  I’m not always aware of the alternative, of grace.  The song I love goes on to say, “redemption comes in strange places, small spaces, calling out the best of who we are…”  My encounter with my friend did not call out the best in me.  When she refused to extend grace it called out confusion, resentment and tension in me.  Her grace could have called out justice and reconciliation and humility in me. 

So maybe I was on the look out for grace that morning at jail.  I certainly didn’t expect to experience grace from the jailer that had hurt my feelings weeks ago.  I got in line to give my id, specifically avoiding the man I had had the run in with.  He was working at a different counter and as I looked up I saw him indicate for me to come to his line.  I knew he recognized me from other times I’d been there.  “How are you this morning?” he asked.  “I’m fine,” I said, shocked that he was engaging me.  “Have a good visit.”  And that was it.  That was enough, enough grace for me. 

The bridge in the song, Add to the Beauty, says, “And this is grace:  an invitation to be beautiful, and this is grace, an invitation.”  That is how it felt that morning, like I had been invited to be beautiful, to be light and free.  I thought of how I had felt the day before- heavy and ashamed; stripped and useless.  I thought of all the times I had made others feel that way and determined that I want to be one who invites people to be beautiful; who extends a way to freedom.  I want to be a woman of grace.