A muscular young athlete, bench-pressing massive iron; stonemasons, deeply-focused, chiseling the capstone for a tall cathedral spire; a driven young executive, burning midnight oil as she assesses market data.

What do these pictures have in common? All celebrate intense, prodigious effort, spent to take the doer to the top in sport, in craftsmanship, in business.

Our world’s awash in images like these: they are the icons of our functional religion. We learn so early to depend on no one else’s effort. Faith, we say, is chiefly what you think about yourself.

And so we are unsettled by the unexpected gospel: “It is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast” (Eph 2:8-9).

When there is nothing we can do; when “all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death”; when we at last despair of scaling heaven by our sweat or skill or passion, grace given us in Jesus speaks for us, embraces us, and binds us to the heart of God.

Grace honors only trust, and welcomes only gratitude.

So stay in it. -Bill Knott

It’s not called “practicing” for nothing.

On some great future day, the liberating, life-affirming grace we each receive from Jesus will also be the grace we give as freely to those who wound us, irritate our peace, or call out for our love and care.

Between the “now” and “then” there’s a lot of practicing to do—a daily repetition of kind words, forgiving acts, and chosen, holy silences. Like hours we spent as children with pianos, violins, and flutes, we learn the patterns of the Jesus life—not all at once, but with increasing Spirit-skill.

On many days, we get the fingering all wrong: we point unrighteously at those who really need our grasp and our embrace. But just because the grace that saves us keeps on saving us from us, we build up skills in loving, holding, healing, helping.

Great music—gracious music—is never perfect on day one.

Keep practicing. And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

If you’ve ever been forgiven; if you’ve been held when you were wrong, or bitter, or confused—you know the grace that never can repay the giver. 

So we surrender to the goodness God implants in human hearts. “We know how dearly God loves us, because He has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with His love”

(Rom 5:5). 

We come to understand God’s grace when we are loved extravagantly, without apparent cause, and with no expectation of response. We vow with everything within that we will love as we’ve been loved—without return; without reward; just for the Lord. 

This “common grace” is strikingly uncommon, but always welcome, always valued, and indelibly remembered. “Dear friends, let us continue to love one another, for love comes from God. Anyone who loves is a child of God and knows God” (1 John 4:7).

The grace that reached to you now reaches from you to the loveless, the careless, and the thoughtless. 

Grace never was for you alone. 

Keep giving grace. 

And it will stay with you. -Bill Knott

“When I’m deep in a hole, lower a rope, not a shovel.”

The last thing we need when we’ve dug ourselves profoundly into pain or confusion or sin is more of the same. Our best efforts got us there: our best efforts won’t deliver us. The pit only gets deeper—and so does our frustration. As Scripture says, “There is a way that appears to be right, but in the end it leads to death” (Prov 14:12).

Rescue only comes from above—from Someone who both sees our plight and can do something to change it. God’s Word reveals that Jesus fully understands how desperate our condition is—and He—uniquely—can change the ending of our story: “This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for He faced all of the same testings we do, yet He did not sin. So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive His mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most” (Heb 4:15-16).

Common sense can tell us to stop digging. Wisdom urges us to accept the grace that doesn’t leave us where we are. “He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire. He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along. He has given me a new song to sing, a hymn of praise to our God” (Psa 40:2-3).

Let yourself be lifted.

And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

It’s a scene played out 10 million times in the 30 days since Christmas: “You shouldn’t have . . .” “But I didn’t get you anything. . .” “I didn’t hear we were exchanging gifts . . .”

A stranger from another planet might conclude that our annual Christmas gift-giving is actually an exquisite balancing act—designed to keep each party from feeling awkward for having received an unreciprocated gift. We desperately dislike the sense that accepting kindness creates an obligation we must rapidly erase.

Thus every January we work diligently to restore the “giving equilibrium.” We send overnight parcels, repurposed fruitcakes, and texts that wonder how our long-planned gift was so “delayed” in the delivery system. We were busy; overwhelmed; “things slipped our memory.”

But grace is truly, freely, and persistently a gift—and not a trade we make with God by which He offers us salvation and we offer Him good behavior. The Bible couldn’t be clearer: “So we praise God for the glorious grace He has poured out on us who belong to His dear Son. He is so rich in kindness and grace that He purchased our freedom with the blood of His Son and forgave our sins. He has showered His kindness on us, along with all wisdom and understanding” (Eph 1:6-8).

If it’s really grace, you will always feel awkward about your inability to give God something comparable. Get used to it.

And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

That impulse in our souls to pray—to find our knees; to stammer out the words—grows from an early, dim awareness of just how much we need the grace of God.

We pray because we cannot fix our world or ourselves. We kneel because we’re powerless to heal sick children, pay the bills, or mend unhealthy marriages. We call out as we weep for all the clash between our living and God’s giving.

And even that first impulse is itself a gift of grace: “For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered” (Rom 8:26).

To pray is to align with grace—to ask for and invite “the Love that will not let us go” to have more sway, more rule, more reach, more play. And so the simplest prayers are always best: “Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner” unblocks the flow of saving grace that restores lives and reforms nations.

What we call grace is simply letting God do what has always been His joy to do: love us, hold us; heal us; keep us. We are latecomers to His kindness. Grace precedes our first impulse to seek it.

Now stay in it. -Bill KNott

Like all the stories Jesus told, this one comes very close to home.

We justly celebrate the prodigal. He finds himself among the pigs, then soberly concludes that he should go back home. And we deplore that bitter brother whose body never left the farm, but whose hard heart had left the Father long ago.

Unlike each other as they seem, both shared a common malady. Neither prized the love that gave them birth, that nurtured them 10,000 days, that waited—on the porch and at the table—to see if love would change their lives.

Misunderstanding grace is not related to how far you roam. This story proves that you can miss it, even if you stay at home.

 Of Jesus, Scripture testifies that “He came and preached peace to you who were far away and peace to those who were near. For through Him we both have access to the Father by one Spirit. Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of His household” (Eph 2:17-19).

Grace offers us a family, even when our stories are miles apart. The waiting Father’s heart of love still calls each of His children home.

Heed the call to join the feast.

And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

The diet lasts a dozen days. The treadmill hasn’t spun 10 miles. The Bible sits where it was left, unopened and unsavored.  We grieve the effortless unraveling of all the goals we wanted to achieve—to lose the weight; increase the steps; find hope and quiet in God’s Word.  

We are too close to dreams undone, to lofty visions gone awry.

So how does God address our lack of grit and gratitude? 

“I will be faithful to you and make you Mine, and you will finally know Me as the Lord,” God says (Hosea 2:20). “He knows our frame,” the psalmist says. “He remembers we are dust” (Psa 103:14).

And so Christ came, to walk our dust, to know our pain, to understand how irresolute we are.  “This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for He faced all of the same testings we do, yet He did not sin” (Her 4:15).

Grace always moves toward us, redeems our goals, and tells us we are loved.  We fall in step with One who holds us when we stumble.  He is resolved when we are not, and faithful when we wander.

Receive His strength.  And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

This painful year has made us clear on what we want for Christmas. Though Lexus and Mercedes-Benz are sure we want a gleaming ride with giant ribbons on the roof, we have no miles we want to drive. The ads all tease us with dark fantasies on Amazon or Netflix, but we still have our darkness to get through. The tech toys that we bought for sport have only one compelling use this year.

We want each other more than gifts. We want the long and lingering embrace of two-year olds who won’t let go; the bear hug from a distant friend; the real gatherings of real folk around a tree, a table, or a fire. We want the laughter never muted, carols sung by families on nights no longer silent. We want the deep security we find in holding, playing, eating with the ones we love in places we call home.

So Christ came down because He couldn’t bear the breach of space; the distance numbered in light-years; the loving words half-understood. He came to us in helplessness so we might know He needed love—our love, the warmth for which He fashioned us. He laid aside His rulership so that a two-year old could grip Him tight; a mother’s tears could turn to joy, and bitter, broken men could heal. He came to make the lepers dance; to be the face the blind first saw; to hear the deaf sing harmony.

His joy is us: we are the only gift He wants.

Accept the grip of His embrace. And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

Ten thousand earnest Christmas pageants offer us some cherub child, dressed as an angel, stepping forth to utter words that sound well-nigh impossible.

“Fear not,” he says, “for behold I bring you tidings of great joy.” (Luke 2:10).

“Fear not?” we think, but never say. “Does God not know our real lives?” That declaration echoing through centuries has shaped how many think of God. We think He’s chiding us for being quite normally afraid of that which ought to terrify—a brilliant light; an other-worldly stranger shouting in the night; the loudest, largest choir Earth has ever heard.

Now hear what that sweet angel really said: “You can stop being afraid now.”

For fear quite naturally results when humans meet the otherness of God and those He sends to share good news. The birth of Jesus was the broadcast we have all been waiting for: we need no longer be afraid.

Whatever views we’ve held of God; whatever fears have made us doubt His kindness or His goodness, Jesus is the living proof that there’s no reason to continue in our fear.

This Christmas, thank God for the grace that lights our midnights and will calm each anxious fear. You can stop being afraid now.

And stay in grace. -Bill Knott