By the time I left the park, it was completely dark, cold, and the car park was empty. That night progressed to become a particularly upsetting and unpleasant night at home for me, and I subsequently returned to the park at 5.15am the next morning, partially to leave the house and partially to walk away my anxieties.
In the grey of morning, and quite alone, I found I couldn’t pray. I didn’t know what to pray. I felt like I’d prayed enough. I couldn’t cry. I had cried enough. So I asked questions. I walked for a few minutes asking things like, “why am I going through this?” before I started to ask something different. I began to ask God how I could get through. Instead of asking Him why, I started to ask Him to show me how.
At that very moment, a word appeared right at my feet on the track. It was scratched deeply into the gravel. It simply said ‘Grace’. I was quite certain that it had not been there the night before. I was also certain that I was the only person in the park on this morning. I believe the word was there just for me. I took pictures of it, barely visible at that time of morning, and allowed the warmth of the message to fill me up.
It could have been any word that appeared on the track. It could have been ‘faith’ or ‘hope’ or ‘love’ or ‘patience’. It wasn’t a word telling me what I needed to survive the turmoil in my life. It was a word reminding me of something I already had, something I have always had, and will always have, in Jesus: Grace.