Introduction

The idea for this book came to me in a phone conversation with my friend, Paddy Calistro, who is now also my publisher. At first the thought of writing about grace seemed impossible. Grace isn't something you can explain, I thought. It's something you have to experience. Still, I felt such an emotional pull toward the subject, I could not let it go.

Two years passed. From time to time Paddy and I talked again about grace and about how the hymn, "Amazing Grace," seemed to explain it best. Neither of us would allow the idea to drift out of sight for long.

Then at last the timing was right. While I was earning my master's degree in religion, one of my professors, Margaret Farley, a Catholic nun, was renowned for her habit of saying yes to unconventional ideas that made sense to her. One day as I stood in her office explaining the concept of this book, I understood why. She agreed to accept this as the written work for her course in moral theology. If grace were a doorway to opportunity, its name would be Sister Margaret.

During the months that I prepared to write the book, I often read the lyrics to John Newton's now famous hymn. On Sunday mornings I would look through the hymnal in whatever church I might find myself. "Amazing Grace" was always there, in the most impressive leather-bound hymn books and the slightest paper mini-missals

I was gaining courage.

Important as it was to understand what Newton wanted to say about grace, I had to find words for my own impressions. One example came quickly to mind. On a late summer afternoon as I got into my car, two men and a woman pushed me to the floor of the back seat. One planted his feet on me, one lurched my stick-shift sedan out of the parking lot, and one shouted orders. Four hours later I was tossed from the car and left on a busy street in Watts. I had been beaten and robbed.

But, by the grace of God, I had not been further molested. What is more, I was led to safety by complete strangers from the neighborhood. My friends Martha and Jeff Melvoin interrupted their honeymoon to pick me up. They took me to their home, where I, in my terror, stayed for more than a week -- just me and the newlyweds.

Thanks to them, I met Susan and Jim Bell, who invited me to move in with them for the summer while I fought my fears. We are now as close as family. Since then I have never doubted that there is a God of mercy who has a plan for each of us. And that plan is carried out through the constant infusion of grace.

Now there are times when I feel grace move past me like a sudden wave of warmer air. I felt it as I worked on this book with Emily Gwathmey, who unearthed perfect pictures, John Miller who designed beautiful pages, my editor Jean Penn and the team at Angel City Press who guided us through the process.

Other times, I have seen grace coming toward me like a shower of light. When my mother died of leukemia, I was certain I saw her escorted to heaven. Her soul, her essential self, left the room, carried not by angels or saints, but by that good light, embracing her like the protective arms of the most loving parent.

Recently, I have started to recognize the grace that accompanies my failures. The first time it happened I was dumbfounded and, then, oddly delighted. I was about to have a conversation I dreaded, and I prayed that my visitor and I would have the grace to resolve our differences in a positive way. I imagined what ought to happen next. Well it didn't. At best, we agreed to disagree. My idea of a happy ending is not necessarily the one I now expect. Grace will remind us that we are not in charge. Yet, I have come to find this enormously comforting. I would rather watch a divine master work things out than waste another minute trying to do it myself. In this way John Newton and I see eye to eye.

Mary Rourke, Pentecost, 1996

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