The grace available to those who wait

Prevenient grace means God is praying in us before we ever join in.

BY JEAN P. KELLY

DURING THE LAST FEW growing seasons, I’ve created garden makers not only noting the variety of expected produce—garlic, potato, beans, onions, but also their expected maturity date. My handwriting in Sharpie reminds me that gardening requires a discipline that is not always easy for me: waiting. Each little note, transcribed from a seed packet, assures me that no matter how much I water, fertilize, worry about pests, guard against marauding deer, and otherwise fuss and fret, I cannot rush the harvest.

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Make new friends without keeping the old

When friends drop us, even the pragmatic realization that all things have a season—even love—is cold company. But new friends will arrive, green leaves growing in our hearts.

By Jean P. Kelly

I WALKED FOR the first time into a multi-day ecumenical faith festival on my own, not knowing a soul and unsure what to expect as a newcomer. Within 15 minutes of arriving, I met a fellow podcaster, then her son, then her brother and by the end of the day I was part of their friends & family group enjoying a musician on stage. Throughout the next three days all were reliable companions, bearing out what I had heard about the authentic hospitality offered annually at the Wild Goose Festival. As one veteran attendee told me “I always make friends I don’t even know I need.”

Just a few days before I drove six hours to North Carolina, a friend of more than 30 years ghosted my invitation to dinner. A voicemail left for another long-time buddy during my return drive likewise went unanswered. That neither was an anomaly, yet I persisted in my attempts to connect, was all the proof needed to affirm how much easier it is to preach detachment than to practice it. My talk at the festival about the importance of establishing boundaries with loved ones, based on my book, Less Helping Them, More Healing You, concluded with a quote from a favorite spiritual teacher, Fr. Anthony DeMello: “When I die to the need for people, then I am right in the desert…. It is solitude, it is aloneness, and the desert begins to flower.”

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