You probably know this already, that grace happens on more days than Tuesdays. It came home to roost—I came home to roost in it—last Thursday. The days had been hard, isolating, deeply so; you may have a sense of some of those. As I was writing in my journal it surprised me with a different end to a familiar verse. “In the valley of the shadow of _____________, I am withed.” Turns out “withed” is an actual English word with some other meaning; but the meaning that night was grace. The situation hadn’t changed, but I was not alone in it. Grace.