Over at Pens Fatales, my friends and I have been talking about grace for the last week. I've loved reading about what it means to everyone, and the discussion has stayed in my mind as I've bumbled through my days.
A while back T-wa and I read a book together. MAYBE A MIRACLE is about a kid whose sister ends up in a coma after an accident, and how his life changes when a rust stain resembling Jesus appears on the side of his house and the sister starts bleeding from her palms and all kinds of holy rollers show up, looking for....well, whatever it is that religious zealots look for.
T-wa and I love that book and we also share both an unshakeable faith and a deep distrust of zealotry, but I had forgotten about the book until the other day he and Junior and I decided that a stain on his shirt (water filter mishap) resembled a map of the world, and wondered idly if he had been visited by a higher power with a message. No hordes of seekers have appeared outside our house, however.
Then when I was driving home from L.A. last weekend I stopped in an In'n'Out (the only thing that makes the L.A. <-> SF run bearable) and found this in a bathroom stall:
Frankly, I think that works for me - as fine an example of grace among us as any.