“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.”
2 Corinthians 12:9

Last night I had a dream. I was in a large auditorium filled with strangers, though here and there were faces I loved—dear friends, even my parents. On the stage sat a grand piano under the glow of a single spotlight. It became clear that I was about to give a concert. And yet there had been no rehearsal and no prepared program. In spite of that, I was aware of a holy calm.

I climbed the stairs, sat at the piano bench, and waited for the opening words. Then they came: There is a current of grace. God’s grace. And when you find it, you can ride it instead of fighting it. You can lift your feet and let the Spirit carry you. From there, the music, the words, the atmosphere, everything seemed gathered into the current. Time disappeared.

For those of us who have lived much of our lives on a stage, performing becomes a familiar companion. I have known it as a pianist, flutist, singer, and Bible teacher. It is second nature to me. But the stage can also tutor the soul in the wrong things. A life in public can become a long hallway lined with others’ opinions, and it is a suffocating place to live.

Grace, however, is the holy current that moves beneath weakness, beneath inadequacy, beneath all the places where I don’t feel like I am enough. I do not have to thrash in that river. I do not have to impress anyone in my own strength. I can lift my feet and let myself be borne by the life of Another.

In this current, I’m called to write devotionals. Each morning feels like stepping onto a stage with no guarantee except this: His grace is enough. His thoughts are better than mine. His current still runs. My part is not to force revelation, but to enter the river.

Jesus, teach us to know the feel of Your current. Make Your grace so familiar, so unmistakable, that the moment we drop our feet back into the riverbed and begin resisting You, we feel the strain of it. Amen