On Tuesday, I dropped No Expiration Date — the gritty truth that this disease doesn’t spoil. It waits.
If you haven’t read it yet, go check it out… because today is the grace side of that same coin.
~DeeBo
If the disease is the shadow in the corner, grace is the porch light at the end of the driveway. Always on. Always ready. Doesn’t matter if I’m late, busted up, or smelling like trouble.
Like Motel 6 says — “We’ll leave the light on for ya.”
Yeah, it’s like that… only eternal.
Some places lock up when you’re late.
The lights go out. The chairs get stacked. The door gets bolted.
Grace isn’t like that.
It doesn’t keep office hours. It doesn’t roll its eyes when I come crawling back at 2 a.m., smelling like defeat. It doesn’t demand I clean myself up before I step inside.
Grace is the light left on.
The key under the mat.
The chair pulled out at the table, plate warm, food hot.
I’ve walked away from it a thousand times.
I’ve slammed the door.
I’ve sworn I wouldn’t need it again.
And every single time I’ve been wrong.
The disease waits to take.
Grace waits to give.
It doesn’t forget my name.
It doesn’t hold grudges.
It’s not impressed with my streaks or disgusted by my slips.
It just keeps the porch light burning, because it knows I’ll need the way home lit.
I’m not in recovery because I’ve nailed it.
I’m in recovery because I’ve got a God who never locks the door.
And He’s waiting.
God,
Thank You for not quitting on me when I quit on You.
For keeping the light on when I ran into the dark.
For the open chair, even when I said I didn’t need it.
Remind me that Your welcome doesn’t expire.
That Your mercy doesn’t run out.
And that no matter how far I’ve wandered,
You’ve got the map and the patience to walk me home.
I’ll fight my fight today,
but I’ll do it knowing I’m already loved,
already forgiven,
already Yours.
Amen.
The Porch Light
I’ve left a thousand times.
Slammed the door.
Told myself I’d never be back.
But the porch light never burned out.
Not once.
No lecture waiting,
no arms crossed,
no list of my wrongs.
Just the smell of home cooking,
and a chair that’s still warm
like I never left.
Grace doesn’t chase.
It doesn’t drag me in.
It just waits.
Light on.
Door open.
Every damn time.
Love y’all
Deebo