
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.