Grace

A friend and I started getting together about a year ago for coffee or lunch, to talk about matters of Spirit and of the heart. When the food arrived, the first time, I lifted up my fork as usual to begin to eat. But before the food reached my mouth, he said, “grace.”

It wasn’t like he was admonishing me, telling me we should say grace first. The word itself, the way he said it, was grace. It made me stop the automatic movement of restaurant habits, made all my trajectories disengage, spin like gears on a coasting bicycle. I felt myself lifted – my thought floating into a much larger place. Grace. He continued, “It’s right here. It’s all that ever matters.” From that point I was ready for all our interactions to be grace-filled – to exude what matters.

At several Thanksgivings over the past years, I’ve felt the momentum of all the food steamroll over the thanks. We were a group of friends together, each family bringing something, doing the last preparations together in our kitchen. When it was ready, there seemed to be the need to eat it while it was hot. But later I missed the taking time – or whatever it takes – to disengage from the trajectory of motion and float, still, in grace. Last two Thanksgivings I had us spend a moment before eating to express thanks. It almost worked. I still needed to find a way to invoke that sudden peace that came with Peter’s “grace.”

So this Thanksgiving, before all the food was set out, I had everyone gather in a circle. I told them that I wanted to do a grace, and that others could have the opportunity to share their expressions. Then, when we were all holding hands, I said, “Grace. It’s right here. It’s all that really matters. It’s the joy that’s in everything that’s joyful, the thing that makes anything you’re doing feel worthwhile.” In that moment, for me, the grace came present. It stayed as other people shared thanks, and one friend shared a movement exercise. It continued throughout the time of food and conversation and movement and music, till the end of the evening.