Learning grace is slow and hard the way recovery of any kind is usually slow and hard.

When a bone is broken or a muscle torn, no supply of godly wishing can speed the pace at which the healing happens. This moment’s not for optics, not for show: nothing less than patient, cellular recovery can make us whole again.

And so no project that contemplates the complete overhaul of our personal theology, the transformation of our hearts and minds, and the mending of our wounded relationships should be described as easy or expected in less than years or even decades. Hear the present, active tense of these amazing verbs:

“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases,

who redeems your life from the Pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good as long as you live so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s” (Psalm 103:2-5).

We may sometimes be privileged to discern the day on which grace first began to heal us. But it will take millennia at least to help us comprehend the length and breadth and height and depth of grace beyond degree.

So stay in grace. -Bill Knott

Ah, to be the wounded one—the one who gets to be the powerful forgiver. We covet this rare role because we’re usually more sinning than we’re sinned against. And when it comes our turn to show the grace once given us, we linger with the choice, as if it were a heavy thing to pardon what’s been done.

We can’t, of course, refuse forgiveness outright: Jesus tied our own forgiveness to the habit of forgiving. But first, a little groveling, we say. Some real contrition, perhaps a tear or ten. Some promises to never—ever—injure us again.

And so we fall far short of grace. We strike a lender’s bargain with the sinner: pardon only if the penitent submits to our superiority.

But grace is always washinbg someone’s feet—abandoning all power in the goal to make the sinner whole. We cannot—dare not—charge for what was freely offered us. If it’s not free, then it’s not grace.

Remind yourself of how forgiveness made you valuable to you.

And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

“Forgive me,” we say flippantly, painting on a shallow smile, when we discover we are misaligned with someone greater or more powerful—someone who might make us hurt.

We view our error lightly—just a minor inconvenience—and we hope the one offended will quickly do the same. Why do the humbling work of owning all that happened and acknowledging its impact?

But true forgiveness is a thoughtful, time-intensive mercy—never rushed if genuine; never brushed away if real. Unless we face the injury we’ve caused, we ask for restoration without repentance, a mere smoothing of ruffled surfaces. If the needed words are “I’m sorry that I hurt you,” or “I can see how I was wrong,” speak truthfully, and find the needed healing. “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ” (Gal 6:1-2).

And when we are the ones offended and it is our turn to forgive, we plant the seeds of our own future grudges if we pretend a painful hurt is only minor and dismissible. What goes unsaid is usually unforgiven as well. Both grace and truth are called for each time there is an injury.

Only those who know themselves forgiven by the One who was always “full of grace and truth” (John 1:14) ever truly forgive another broken soul. Only in the field of grace can reconciliation blossom.

So stay in grace. -Bill Knot

Wherever grace is welcomed and received, joy follows, just as daylight follows dawn.

And so we can read backwards from so many grayed-out, joyless souls to learn how few have heard and loved and lived the gospel. All fearful, anxious following of Jesus—all dim preoccupation with the things we've done or left undone—reveals that we are still in darkness, wrestling with the shadows Jesus rose to vanquish. “In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:4-5).

So hear the gospel chorus in the songbirds’ pre-dawn trilling, bringing light to weary souls—like yours:

“Arise, shine; for your light has come,


 and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.

For behold, darkness shall cover the earth,


 and thick darkness the peoples;


but the Lord will arise upon you,


 and His glory will be seen upon you” (Isaiah 60:1-2).

The Light of all the world invites you: be done with anxious, midnight brooding. The day that dawns is meant to be abundant and eternal, the endless morning of the Son.

And stay in grace. – Bill Knott

In every soul who has ever been healed, conviction rises that they must tell the story of how God’s goodness rebuilt a broken body or a wounded spirit.

Bones got mended; diseases conquered; mobility advanced; relationships renewed. When grace restores what pain has taken, “Then our mouth was filled with laughter,

and our tongue with shouts of joy;

then it was said among the nations,

“The Lord has done great things for them” (Psalm 126:2).

We gladly own we couldn’t—didn’t—heal ourselves. No self-help remedies can knit the muscles of a heart—or reconcile two wounded hearts. Only a power outside ourselves—a love that will not let us go—would care enough to build our peace, to make us whole. And so the world daily echoes with the praise of those who once feared darkness and despair would be their final verdict: “O give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever” (Psa 136:1).

So do not be surprised if you should feel like singing—if contagious joy spills on from you to half a dozen or a hundred. Your healing was for them as well as you. “You, God, have turned my mourning into dancing” (Psa 30:11).

Irrepressible—and irresistible—joy is the lasting legacy of grace.

Move in it. And stay in it. – Bill Knott

My pride is stung. My spirit’s wounded. The untrue, unjust thing that someone said, that someone wrote, went viral with unheard-of speed, fanned on by evil angels.

And rising with the bitter righteousness of bile, the fantasy of sweet revenge becomes more urgent every hour. “Strike back!” say Truth and Justice. “Set the twisted record straight. Unmask the gossiper for who he is, for what she wrote. Redeem your ruined reputation.”

And then Grace whispers, “You have already been redeemed. Your reputation is the best that it could ever be because your life is hid with Christ in God. The pleasures of retaliation are nothing—meaningless—beside the joys of being both forgiven AND forgiving.”

Grace dulls our taste for vengefulness, and makes us hungry for the fullness of God’s joy. “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control” (Gal 5:22).

“Taste and see that the Lord is good” (Ps 34:8).

And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

If you revisit all the beaches where you built sandcastles in the sun, chances are, you’ll never even find a one.

The constant pull of wash and wave reduces all the outposts where we once asserted sovereignty. Our turrets and our towers, our moats and battlements have long since lost the struggle to insist on what was never really ours.

And so it is as grace subdues the castles of our pride and self-assertion. The lovely, unrelenting rhythm of God’s kindness and His mercy overruns our fierce objections and erodes our staked positions. While we were sleeping at our stations, we were flooded by forgiveness, cracked and circled by repeated offers of redemption. And for many—all who acknowledge they are beaten—grace reclaims a life that always was the property of God.

Unless you build cement into your soul—unless you daily and deliberately refuse the pull of God’s unceasing love—you’ll yet surrender to the grace that outmaneuvers all our pride. With the apostle Paul, you’ll soon exclaim, “But I received mercy because I had acted ignorantly in unbelief, and the grace of our Lord overflowed for me with the faith and love that are in Christ” (1 Tim 1:13-14).

There is an hour for yielding crumbling fortresses to grace. Your hour has come. The tide is in.

Rejoice in what you used to fight.

And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

It’s the most famous line ever written about grace by an author not recorded in God’s Word: “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.”

Every week, around the globe, it’s sung and said uncounted times, bringing joy and certainty to billions of believers. Whole lives are built on this.

But the lived reality of grace requires that we move beyond the first person voice, and grasp our role within the choir. For while grace operates for each of us as individuals, we learn it by and through and with—and for—believers Christ in grace puts near us. “And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another” (2 Cor 3:18).

We gather grace from gracious people. We forgive as we’re forgiven. We speak kindly when we listen to kind words. We risk embracing others when we’ve found the deep security of being gripped in love.

A solo Christian is theoretically possible but practically unheard of. God has ordained that all our growth in grace comes through the community of others. We’re taught; we stretch; we struggle; we discover among the others who are also on the journey. From them we gain what no one wretch might ever know:

“Amazing grace, no sweeter words

Were ever sung by choir;

From them we learn the lovely song,

The passion, and the fire.”

Now stay in grace. -Bill Knott