Mysterious and Unexpected Grace
Three personal stories
Mysterious and Unexpected Grace
It can be deeply exhausting on a soul level to solely focus on the problems within modern evangelical churches and Christianity. Sometimes I (we) need a break from that necessary conversation to simply remember God’s grace.
Growing up in Bill Gothard’s IBLP cult, I thought that grace was something we earned. IBLP changed the definition of biblical grace from the undeserved favor of God as a manifestation of His love and mercy to “the desire and power to do God’s will.” Grace became about something I did for God and not something He poured out on me.
Discovering the unexpected, mysterious, and downright scandalous grace of God has been the best part of my faith journey these past twenty years. (And will hopefully be the topic of my next book.)
Seven years ago, as I sat in my new counselor’s office and after I poured out my story of spiritual abuse and religious trauma, Miriam gave me one ask. “Look for God’s grace every day,” she said. “It might be in the sunrise, a flower, or a baby’s smile.” I see those simple graces every time I look for them. And sometimes I see bigger ones. Gifts. Unasked for mercies. Mysterious coincidences that defy logic. They are beautiful to witness and remember.
Grace in a House
We sold our house on a whim in May of 2020. It was a long time coming but also a quick decision. Having no idea what the future held with the housing market, we moved in with my mother-in-law “for a few months.” It would be a year-and-a-half before we moved back out. It was a great time to sell and a hard time to buy. Inventory in our area was low. Prices were high. In August one of my husband’s coworkers suggested we come over to look at their home. They might be interested in selling if she could convince her husband to move into a condo.
We spent two hours sitting around, drinking Coke’s in the driveway, and trying to make this couple like us. The house needed updating. It needed a finished basement so we had rooms for the kids. The salmon pink shutters desperately needed painting. But I loved it.
The neighborhood was perfect. The yard was huge. There was a little potential office near the main bedroom. I could see myself living there forever. But it wasn’t for sale.
For the next seven months I waited, hoped, prayed, and looked at other houses as they came up. Nothing matched my little cottage with the pink shutters. My husband told me it wasn’t going to happen, that I needed to let the house go and be content with something else. But I couldn’t.
I begged Jesus for that house.
And He gave it to me. It was a long, long wait—over a year in total—but eventually we were able to buy it in a private deal. I’ve been at my little house for two and a half years now. We’ve put in hours of labor. It still needs work. But the gifts of this house continually surprise me, things I’ve always wanted but never thought to ask for like:
The river right behind my back yard.
A gas fireplace that I get to enjoy on cool mornings with my coffee.
Living off of a beautiful winding road along the river.
My house is a gift. Something I could not have finagled if I tried. An unexpected grace of God. And I find myself grateful every time I stop to think.
Grace in a Job
Seven years ago my husband “resigned” as a youth pastor (that’s Christianese code for was fired without public explanation). He was desperately looking for another job before our severance ran out and was feeling discouraged because job interviews were not panning out. As he drove home from the latest bad interview one Monday, he passed an assisted living community. He was pretty sure that he had seem them on Indeed and thought that they had some kind of an opening. He randomly decided to stop.
Not realizing the doors had a code, my husband opened them and set off the alarm. He was immediately accosted by two residents who demanded he tell them a joke. As a former youth pastor, he had a ready supply. After the initial commotion, he was able to talk to the executive director and find out that they did have a maintenance director position open. My husband left the building with an interview scheduled for the next day.
He would find out later that they had been missing a maintenance director for over three months and were getting desperate. The executive director and the wellness director had decided to pray about it together over the weekend. Monday morning my husband walked into the building. I get teary eyed thinking about the mysterious coincidence.
That job was incredibly healing for him. After years of being torn down and continually criticized, he was affirmed by everyone. Staff, residents, and his boss thought he was amazing. They loved him. He would come home every day with a smile on his face.
He has stayed with the company, eventually moving into a regional role and overseeing maintenance directors at buildings across the state. That role has slowly required more and more overnight travel—which has been hard on our family—so he recently began to look for a new job. Nothing. So much nothing that it started to feel like God was blocking the change. Then he found out that they were looking for a new executive director at his old building which happens to be less than five minutes from our new house.
Every single door opened wide. Is it just a coincidence that seven years later my husband is returning to the building where he began? A place of genuine healing? Or is it an unexpected and mysterious grace, a little year of jubilee, a gift from God for no reason and because of His love?
Grace in a Calling
I was determined not to grow up and be a teacher. Teaching runs in my family: great-grandparents, grandparents, parents, and assorted aunts and cousins. We are all teachers. I tried not to be one, but as I looked at my passions, it just made sense.
I’ve always loved working with kids. In the cult days I taught Children’s Institutes while their parents attended Gothard’s Basic Seminar—sorry children! After I got out, I worked at camp for five summers as a single, met my husband, and went back to work for five more married with children. We did youth pastoring gigs together for seven plus years.
I graduated with my teaching degree right before getting married, and then taught for two years in the State of Wyoming. The first year I taught remedial math at a residential psychiatric facility. That was a trip. Then I taught math and language arts to twelve 5th and 6th graders part time in a three-room-schoolhouse. Also not a typical teaching experience. And then I took an eleven year break from teaching while I raised my own children.
I didn’t plan to go back to teaching. But as I was looking at career options after my kids were in school, it once again made sense. Three years ago a 5th grade math position opened at my children’s school. It was a great fit. It was also my first normal classroom.
I thought I would love it. There were aspects that I loved, but many parts that I didn’t love. By the beginning of the second year I was already planning my escape. I was determined to stay for five years until my son moved on to high school. and then I would probably look for something else.
Math was fun; grading ninety tests was not. I loved building relationships; I hated classroom management. My team was amazing; teaching to a standardized test not so much. And yet in the middle of my conflicted feelings and frustrations, I rediscovered something about myself that had gotten lost over the years. I LOVE working with troubled students. (If you’ve read my book, Religious Rebels, you are probably less surprised about this than I was.) I’ve loved these difficult children for years.
A few months ago, the end of February actually, I was sitting with my coffee and journal one morning, writing to Jesus about my life: the things I love, the things I don’t have time for, the things I wish I could do. “How can I do it all?” I asked. Into my mind came this little thought: I wonder how Mr. B got his job? Mr. B is our school’s academic and behavior support specialist. All he does is work with troubled children. I decided to ask him.
After school that day, I found Mr. B in the teachers’ lounge and asked, “What training did you need to become a behavior specialist?” He looked at me weirdly.
“Why are you asking me that?”
“I don’t know. I’m just curious,” I replied.
Mr. B continued staring at me. Then he said, “I’ve been talking to our principal about bringing someone on as a teammate and you are my number one pick. Are you interested?”
Yes, yes I was!
Turns out the day I felt prompted to ask about the job was the day after the admin team had had a big conversation. Months later Mr. B asked me again how I knew to talk to him that day in February. I didn’t know. It was just the mysterious and unexpected grace of God.
I got the job without even having an interview.
Next year I will spend my days doing one of the things I love most in life. I get to be paid to build relationships with kids, brainstorm ways to help them grow and develop their skills, and support teachers as they try to teach. I’m thrilled. I could maybe have survived teaching for two more years. I think I can be a behavior specialist for the rest of my life. This job is a gift of grace.
Look for God’s Grace
I used to think that God’s grace was something to be earned, or something to be used to perform better. Now I know that it is those glimpses of beauty and goodness we catch in this broken world.
Despite the pain, hurt, and heartache I’ve been through, despite the frustrations I feel with evangelicalism in America, I know that God is still good. And I believe He still gives us good gifts of grace every day if we look for them.
I have walked through deep seasons of darkness in my life, but even there grace has shown through like lightening bugs, like stars, like a flashlight that illuminates the very next step. I see it when I looked for it. I hope that you can find glimpses of God’s unexpected, mysterious grace today too. If you have a story, please share!
As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts, questions, or comments. You can find me on Threads, Instagram, Facebook, my website, and on my podcast Looking for the Real God. I’d love to connect with you on any of these places!
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I’ve leaned to call those happenings God-instances or Divine appointments.
I have one child who said, “Never will I be a teacher like my mom.” She teaches Jk and SK and loves her job.
We sold our house through a friend. I mentioned at Bible study we were thinking of listing. Not only that we bought their condo. (We wanted to downsize).
Seeing God’s hand in every step.
Beautiful memoir.
These are little miracles! Thank you for the encouragement. My daughter, after struggling with some serious trauma and mental health issues, became a fentanyl addict living on the street 2 years ago. The first year was super hard as I tried to 'help' her out of her situation. Around a year and a half ago, I began to spend more time in her community and advocate for them with the city and various agencies. It's turned into a little ministry of me spending time on the street with dealers, addicts, sex workers and amazing frontine workers and I love it so much! I'm turning 62 in a week and I never thought I'd find myself in this place. My daughter said, Mom, God brought me here first, so you would come.