When my daughter was born, well actually, years and years before my daughter was born, I knew that I would name her Grace. It's a family name – both on my mother's side, as well as my father's side of the family. Me, my mother, my grandmother, and two great grandmother's were all Grace. It had traditionally been a middle name, but somewhere around high school I got it in my mind that I would use it as my daughter's first name.

Fast forward and find me in my mid thirties. I did not have the daughter whom I had christened so many years earlier. I didn't even have a husband or a decent prospect. I began to secretly fear that I had shuffled the deck one too many times and a family was no longer in the cards.

And then, in the blink of an eye (almost literally) I found the man of my dreams and we married. One year later we started our family and learned that it would be the little girl I had long dreamed of. And, of course, we named her Grace.

But it was no longer just a family name to me. It was also a daily reminder of the grace that I learned about in those interim years between when I dreamed of my daughter and when God felt the time was right to give her to me. It is a reminder that this child is born of the grace of a loving Father who pursued me relentlessly over time and space. A reminder of his grace that waited me out and found me when I was tired of running and tired of trying to forge my own path. She is a reminder of the beautiful gift of grace, acceptance, and love I found in the faith that was planted in my youth but grown and cultivated through the storms of my adulthood.

This Grace that lives in my home is a daily reminder as her name rolls off my tongue that she is a product of grace, she is full of grace, and she is the gift of grace that God used to convince me of His love.

 

 

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