There is a moment that comes when you realize you have nothing left to give.
Not because you don’t care… but because you’ve reached the edge of your strength.
Sitting beside my father, I have come to that place.
And it is there that I am beginning to understand grace.
Grace meets me in my limits.
I cannot fix this.
I cannot change what is happening.
I cannot carry it all.
But grace meets me there.
Not in my strength—but in my weakness.
As I sit with my father, I begin to see him differently. Not just as the man I remember—but as a man who, like me, was doing the best he could.
And I begin to see myself differently too.
Because the grace I extend to him…
is the same grace I need.
Grace changes how I show up.
It allows me to be patient when I am tired.
Gentle when I am frustrated.
Present when I want to withdraw.
Grace does not remove the difficulty.
But it carries me through it.
In the quiet moments, I am aware of two things:
My weakness…
and God’s presence.
And I begin to understand:
Grace is not something I control.
It is something I receive.
(Image does not show actual image of my father.)
