There’s something beautifully paradoxical about grace—it often shows up when life feels anything but graceful. When we’re weary, uncertain, or hurting, grace tends to slip quietly into the room, reminding us that God is still at work, even when we can’t see the outcome.
For much of my life, I’ve wrestled with this truth. Living with cerebral palsy has meant facing daily challenges that test my patience, strength, and faith. From early childhood therapy sessions to moments of deep exhaustion in adulthood, I’ve learned that grace isn’t the absence of hardship—it’s God’s presence in the middle of it.
There have been days when my body didn’t cooperate, when the simplest task became a mountain, and when prayers felt unanswered. In those moments, I’ve asked God, “Why this body? Why this path?” But every time I’ve reached the end of my own strength, His voice whispers, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)
It took me years to understand that God doesn’t waste pain. Every trial, delay, or limitation becomes an invitation—to rely on Him more deeply, to see beauty where others see brokenness, and to witness miracles in motion. Grace, I’ve realized, isn’t a quick fix or a one-time blessing; it’s a lifelong lesson in surrender.
When I started writing Rolling in Grace, I didn’t do it because I had everything figured out. I wrote it because I needed to remind myself that God’s story for my life wasn’t finished. Pain was not the period at the end of my sentence—it was a comma, a pause before His redemption showed up in a new form.
Grace teaches us to live in the tension between what is and what’s promised. It reminds us that we can be both hurting and hopeful, weary yet worshipful. Sometimes, grace comes as a friend’s kind word. Sometimes, it’s the quiet strength to keep rolling forward when no one’s watching. And sometimes, it’s simply the peace that passes all understanding when everything else feels chaotic.
If you’re walking through a hard season right now, please know this: grace hasn’t forgotten you. You might not see it yet, but it’s already there—woven into the unseen details of your story. God’s grace meets us where we are but never leaves us there. It transforms weakness into wisdom and pain into purpose.
Looking back, I can now see that my hardest seasons weren’t wasted—they were workshops where grace was shaping my faith, teaching me endurance, and refining my heart. I may roll through life in a wheelchair, but spiritually, I’ve learned to walk in grace every single day.
So whatever your season looks like—whether you’re grieving, waiting, or struggling to believe—hold tight to this truth: grace is not a one-time rescue. It’s God’s ongoing reminder that even when life feels heavy, His love is still light enough to carry you through.
Keep rolling, keep trusting, and keep watching for the quiet miracles. Grace is already there.
