Unexpected Graces

Last Tuesday morning began with a small moment that has stayed with me. I was out running on the Duck Creek path, completely in my own head — thinking about upcoming rehearsals and performances, entertaining the illusion that I resembled Giselle rather than a startled housecat — when someone I passed simply said, “Nice job.”

It was such a brief exchange, but it pulled me out of my inward focus and reminded me that I’m not moving through this journey alone. There are others on the path with me, offering encouragement in ways that are easy to miss unless we’re paying attention. I’ve been thinking about that as we step into Lent: how small gestures of kindness and presence can reorient us toward community and shared journeys.

Maybe that’s part of Lent’s gift: it doesn’t wait for us to look graceful. It doesn’t require us to glide through life like a well‑rehearsed ballet. More often, it meets us in our startled‑housecat moments — the ones where we’re flustered, distracted, or convinced everyone else is moving with more poise than we are. And still, grace shows up. Sometimes it arrives in the form of a stranger’s “Nice job,” a reminder that being seen doesn’t have to be polished or impressive. It can simply be honest. Human. Enough.

And maybe that’s why those tiny moments matter so much. They remind us that God doesn’t wait for our running form to be perfect before stepping in with encouragement. Community doesn’t either. We’re surrounded by people who catch glimpses of us mid‑stumble, mid‑sprint, mid‑“what on earth am I doing,” and still choose to offer kindness instead of critique. Lent gives us permission to stop pretending we’re gliding effortlessly and instead to show up as our real, slightly rumpled selves — trusting that God meets us there, and that the people around us are often carrying more grace than we expect.