Grace first met with me over breakfast. And how I needed that encounter.

We are reading aloud to one another, as part of our morning devotions, and right now it's Francis Spufford's book, Unapologetic. Where, in Chapter One, he describes how the novelist Richard Powers wrote that the Adagio movement of Mozart's Clarinet Concerto sounds the way mercy would sound.

It's one of my favourite pieces. I'm listening to Andrew Marriner and the London Symphony Orchestra ... and just as Spufford mentions, it's a very patient piece of music. Unhurried, lilting, the tune going round and round "in messageless tenderness .... it sounds as if it comes from a world where sorrow is perfectly ordinary, but there is still more to be said. It said, everything you fear is true. And yet. And yet. Everything you have done wrong you have really done wrong. And yet. And yet. Let yourself count, just a little bit, on a calm that you do not have to be able to make for yourself, because it is here, freely offered. You are still deceiving yourself, said the music, if you don't allow for the possibility of this. There is more going on here than what you deserve, or don't deserve. There is this, as well."

So it sounds the way mercy would sound - mercy, getting something kind instead of the sensible consequences of an action; something better than you could have expected.

And that was Grace to me. To us. And because we have been graced with grace, we can grace others with grace. A more literal translation of Matthew 10:8, which usually says something along the lines of freely you have received, freely give. We are graced - given mercy by God. So we extend it to others.

To read that; to listen to the Clarinet Adagio; to receive mercy.

Truly Graced.

And that would have been enough.

But there was more.

This time through Brennan Manning, who recently went on to Glory. His memoir, All is Grace, has a book video trailer which I happened upon later. I've ordered the book and await its arrival; but this snippet of Manning, preaching, speaking - interspersed with footage of him in his illness and incapacity; this story of a man, an alcoholic, but saved by mercy, extending grace. This, this spoke fathoms deep to me. Watch it soon, weep and rejoice. Grace met me with me through this.

And that would have been enough. But there was more.

Meeting face-to-face with Sally. She is not my Spiritual Director (that would be Joy, who is aptly named). She is a trained psychotherapist and counsellor - and the sweetest American I know, saved by grace and extending grace. I've been meeting with her for some time (you know already my PTSS and depression of the past 2 years.) As she prayed for me today, Grace came again.

Sweet Grace. Amazing Grace.

Have you encountered Grace today?

Stress. Renovating projects and moving house and changing jobs are all rated highly on the stress indicator tables. Add to that the PTSS and depression of the previous two years, and I can excuse my instant explosions.

That angry tongue.

Those hateful words.

The impatient temper which explodes just when I'm not expecting it.

I even - yes, I confess to this too - I even hit the dog. Not hard, but still. I hit her, because she was leaping up at a visitor: trained already by our lovely workmen (they truly are, always cheerful and hardworking even in the recent freezingly cold weather) to leap as they tease her with their sandwiches. I've only recently discovered this and they do't do it anymore. But old habits die hard, especially in Labradors eager for any tidbit. Exasperated by her disobedience and desire to jump, I scolded and then lashed out, impatient, angry, on a short fuse.

And in front of a wonderful young Christian who had come on Saturday to help us work on the house.

So that's where I was last week.

On a short fuse.

It kept hitting me too, that short fuse. Exploded externally, nagged internally.

But Sunday. And the sweetness of the Lord came pouring in as the tears poured out.

"This is the air I breathe ... and I, I, I - I'm lost without You, I'm desperate for You."

Worship at The Bath and Avon Vineyard. The Spirit convicting.

Lord, change me. I'm desperate for You to change me. I can't seem to get rid of this short fuse.

* * * *

He sent me Words. Words I have known for years but had forgotten. From Amy Carmichael's small but profound book IF -

If a sudden jar can cause me to speak an impatient, unloving word, then I know nothing of Calvary love. For a cup brimful of sweet water cannot spill even one drop of bitter water, however suddenly jolted.

I need Calvary Love. HIS love, pouring into me, loving others through me, filling me to the brim with His sweetness and patience and grace.

So I kneel at the foot of His Cross, conscious once again of that all powerful Love. LOVE that died for me and my short fuse. LOVE that can flood me. LOVE - the first of the fruit of the Spirit.

The Cross we found (in the floor joists!) is now in the Chapel

I welcome His love in and drink deeply. Oh, LOVE, that will not let me go, I rest my weary soul in Thee ...

I'm still on a short fuse. But I've handed the fuse to Him.

* * * *

SATURDAY was another work day. The final wall came down, to create the kitchen. And the ceiling came down in one of the attic bedrooms. That's the end of demolishing; now we start putting it all together. YAY!