For Christmas, my sweet husband gave me a box filled with a 30 day writing challenge. He knows me well and knows I love writing, but that I have done very little of it lately. So, for day 3, his note prompted me to look into my name and its various meanings, and then to write a story or description about one of those meanings. I found out some new things concerning my middle and last names, but still chose to write about the main meaning of my first name, Timothy, honoring God.  

If you would have asked me ten years ago what it meant to honor God, I would have made you a laundry list of the dos and don’ts of Christianity. I would have said that honoring God could be achieved through ticking off the dos and avoiding the don’ts. Even though I knew that grace comes in the apostrophes of the don’ts and right before you actually start making the list, I would have made it anyway. Even though I knew that grace had to be grander than a simple list because I was told it covered the sheer amount of sins I felt I had committed at the sweet young age of seventeen, I would have made a list anyway. Even though I knew that grace was not mine to give or withhold from myself, I still believed that it wasn’t enough. I believed that honoring God was the only way to receive grace.

But you see, I had it all wrong. And so does Anne Lamott (although I don’t make a habit of disagreeing with Anne Lamott). One of her famous lines is “Grace bats last.” I understand the sentiment that grace covers all. I have found, however, that grace comes first. Grace shows up to the baseball game before we even knew we were going to play. Grace fills the stadium. Grace pours the pitchers of beer and hands out bags of popcorn like it’s going out of style. Grace shows up with foam fingers and rally caps and is ready for the start of the game long before us.

Grace showed up long before we knew we needed Her, and She said, “I love you. I love you. I love you. You are loved. You are loved. You are loved.” Then we look at Her sideways out of the corner of our eyes and try to walk away without drawing too much attention to the weirdo with her ‘I love you’ foam fingers and her ‘You are loved’ rally caps. It’s when we’re in the bottom of the ninth with two outs, the winning run is on base, and you’ve already struck out twice this game that you look to the stadium to see Grace cheering Her heart out. Everything rests of your shoulders and Grace fully believes you can do it. You remember Her smile, her shining eyes, the way she believed you’d be the best all along and that nothing could ever keep Her from seeing that in you.

This is the way grace met me, in my deepest pain, when I thought all was lost. Grace met me and said, “I love you. I love you. I love you. You are loved. You are loved. You are loved.” And something miraculous happened, I started to believe that grace was real. I started to believe that I was worth a life, that this gay man was actually worth something. Grace gave me legs to stand on, gave me vocabulary to begin the journey of self-love. The only way that I know how to honor Grace, to honor God is to be the most fully myself. The most fully gay. The most fully Christian. The most ginger. The most freckle-y. The most outrageous. The most kind. The most loving. Grace anointed me a long time ago. She told me I was loved and worthy of love. And I believed Her. And She wants desperately to do the same for you.