Grace. We talk asthough we understand the term. The bank gives us a grace period. The seedy politician falls from grace. Musicians speak of a gracenote. We describe an actress as gracious,a dancer as graceful. We use the wordfor hospitals, baby girls, kings, and premeal prayers. We talk as though weknow what grace means. But do wereally understand it? Have we settled for wimpy grace? It politely occupies aphrase in a hymn, fits nicely on a church sign. Never causes trouble or demandsa response. When asked, Do you believe in grace? who could say no?Max Lucadoasks a deeper question: Have you been changed by grace? Shaped by grace?Strengthened by grace? Emboldened by grace? Softened by grace? Snatched by thenape of your neck and shaken to your senses by grace? God's gracehas a drenching about it. A wildness about it. A white-water, riptide,turn-you-upside-downness about it. Grace comes after you. It rewires you. Frominsecure to God secure. From regret riddled to better-because-of-it. Fromafraid to die to rea