The task was simple.  Iron the fabric to remove the wrinkles.  However, this was no ordinary fabric.  A delicate blend, it had been fashioned into the robe my daughter was to wear during her confirmation service scheduled to take place at our church on, of all days, my birthday.

The event, which marked the culmination of two years of confirmation classes, quizzes, Bible memory verses and diligent study, was but one of many on the family’s end-of-the-school-year calendar and the task of ironing was but one of a multitude of obligations and responsibilities that needed to be taken care of during this time frame.

In an effort to finally get the task checked off the list, I deviated from my dinner preparations one evening to set up the necessary equipment to get the job done.  Wanting to make the most of the time I had available while I waited for the iron to heat up, I grabbed a piece of paper and quickly jotted down a list of all the chores requiring completion prior to the confirmation party that was all but a few days away.

As soon as the iron reached the prescribed heat, I abandoned the list and returned to the task at hand.  Following the instructions I was given, I gently turned the robe inside out and worked gingerly to avoid damaging the fragile cloth.  My efforts were so focused, in fact, that upon flipping the robe right side out I discovered I had inadvertently ironed a pleat right out of the front of the robe.  

While trying to determine the best course of action to re-form the pleat, something in the back of my mind cautioned me to quit while I was ahead.  However, the perfectionist in me would simply not allow this infraction to go unchecked and I proceeded to press the iron once again to the fabric.  Unfortunately, by this point the iron’s temperature had surpassed acceptable limits.  As a result, the appliance immediately adhered to the material at the bottom corner of the robe, melting the fabric and leaving several small holes.

Not believing what was happening right in front of my eyes, I ran the iron over the fabric again, hoping the mess would go away, but to no avail.  Now what do I do?

I experienced a multitude of emotions in that moment.  Frustration that my normal competence in ironing failed me when it was most needed.  Embarrassment that others would see my mistake and judge me for it.  Guilt that my daughter had to wear an imperfect robe and be forced to face the criticism of others. Anger that I was charged with this task to begin with.

Trying my best to remain calm in order to figure out how to resolve the issue, I looked around and immediately spied the bottle of spray-on, iron-on adhesive we had used when making the requisite banner my daughter was to carry down the aisle at the start of the church service.  A banner designed by my daughter, depicting what her personally selected bible verse meant to her.  A banner that stated she was “Saved By Grace.”

“For by grace you have been saved through faith.  And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.”

Ephesians 2:8-9

And right then and there, standing in my kitchen with the iron in one hand and the damaged robe in the other, I experienced a moment of grace when I realized God doesn’t care if the robe has holes or wrinkles.  I messed up, but He loves me anyway.  And that was exactly what I needed to be reminded of in that moment.

Grace is God’s gift to us.  It is a gift freely given, regardless of what we’ve done or haven’t done.  Though we are sinful and do not deserve His love, He sent Jesus, His son, to save us and draw us closer to Him.  And though we may sin and rebel against Him, He loves us anyway.

In the chaos that marked the end of the school year, I had gotten so lost in all the “noise” of daily living, and not just the tasks and obligations, but also in the stress of striving to meet others’ expectations, the fear of being judged for my inadequacies, the guilt of letting my daughter down, that I lost sight of the significance of occasion.  I lost sight of what was most important, the opportunity to witness my daughter confessing and affirming her faith in her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ and to know she is saved by grace through her faith.

With the help of a scrap of white fabric and the remainder of the adhesive spray, I was eventually able to camouflage the damage done to the robe.  I fondly think of it as the “grace patch” which serves as a reminder that I don’t need to do anything to earn God’s love.  His Son has already paid the price.  Nothing I do will change that.  The patch has also become a memento commemorating the day my daughter confessed and affirmed her faith in her Lord and Savior, the best birthday present I could have asked for.

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