Voice of Doom on the other end of the phone.
It's our fabulous Realtor who is normally very upbeat, but with measured tones and revealing years of Catholic education she announces, "I'm about to fall from grace."
I can and cannot imagine what's coming next. "The deal has fallen through," she says.
Imagining that she's holding her breath, I quickly assure her everything is just fine and I'm fine. Really. I'm fine, as opposed to being F.I.N.E* about this turn of events. I'm even feeling somewhat relieved because the deal was starting to get way too complicated.
The sellers were in near-mortal combat with one another and we were on the verge of becoming collateral damage. First, they were unable to make necessary repairs. Then, the bank's appraisal came in $13k under the price, which submerged them underwater. We'd already gotten into the life boat and were now rowing away. Quickly.
Our Realtor cannot believe I'm not sobbing and/or screaming at her. I am doing neither. Instead, I'm telling her that I believe in a sovereign God and know I'm under the protection of angels. There's no grace to fall from, only grace to be recognized and embraced. "We dodged a bullet," I tell her.
Let's hear it for savoring the ripe and ready fruits of spiritual practice and abiding faith! But, I must confess a wee bit of triumphalism. I knew this deal would tank and got excited about hearing the magic words, "you were right." Now that is F.I.N.E.
*FYI: F.I.N.E. = Fukt up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional.