Both Sides of Grace

By Angela Clark Logan

Marci has always been most comfortable with life when she has a good set of rules to follow. Most people who know her well have learned to love her in spite of her legalistic approach to everything from faith to relationships. Now, Marci is a divorced mother of three. Her life is falling apart, and she is beginning to question all of her strict “rules.”

Sometimes rules just don’t work, and Marci sees the role they played in the disintegration of her marriage. Her strict conformity to what she believes are the rules of faith and relationships have prevented her from experiencing the true happiness and peace God wants her to have.

When Marci learns the hard way that life isn’t always black and white, she discovers something even better: grace. Before she can learn to give grace to the people around her, she must first learn to receive God’s grace for herself. As she learns to allow God to guide her, she finds happiness, renewed relationships, and a faith stronger than ever before.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781664276536

Angela Clark Logan

Angela Clark Logan holds an undergraduate degree in Biblical Literature from Ozark Christian College and a Master of Divinity from Abilene Christian University. She works as the Minister of Worship and Media Communications at Crossroads Christian Church in Hutchinson, Kansas. Angela and her husband have three sons, one daughter, a cat, and a dog, and they enjoy small-town life in their home just outside of Hutchinson.

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Copyright © 2022 Angela Clark Logan.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version® NIV® Copyright © 1973 1978 1984 2011 by Biblica, Inc. TM. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-7652-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-7651-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-7653-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022915962

WestBow Press rev. date: 09/28/2022

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Epilogue

From The Author

DEDICATION

To Scott ~ My partner, my friend, my biggest fan. Thank

you for your constant support, for journeying with

me in life and faith, and for giving me space to figure

out what it means to live in both sides of grace.

To Missy ~ Thank you for being my first reader, for your

encouragement at each step of this process, and for being

my most faithful prayer partner. You are a treasure.

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Chapter 1

M arci sighed as she heaved the basket of neatly folded clothes off the floor and rested it on her hip. Looking down at the assortment of jeans and t-shirts, she wondered how many of them would make it into the dresser drawers still folded. Shaking her head, she carried the basket up the stairs and set it down next to her boys’ bedroom.

They can put it away tomorrow, she thought as she stepped into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. Walking over to her bed, she slid her slippers off her feet, climbed under the covers, and lay down, pulling her thick comforter up under her chin.

After resting her eyes for a few minutes, Marci sat back up and reached for the Bible on her nightstand. She opened it to the place she had left off the night before in the book of Ephesians and read the first three verses of chapter two:

As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient. All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our sinful nature and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature objects of wrath.

Marci stopped reading, closed her eyes, and spoke verses four and five from memory. But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved.

She leaned her head back against the headboard behind her and smiled to herself, thinking out loud, Daddy’s favorite verses. I’ve heard him quote them more times than I can count. Marci sat lost in her thoughts for several minutes before she shook her head and looked back down at her Bible.

Now, where was I, she mumbled to herself. Finding where she left off in verse six, she continued to read through verse ten:

And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

Grace, Marci said quietly. Such a little word for something so big. Again, Marci lost herself in her thoughts, remembering the many times she’d heard her dad talk about grace.

What grace really boils down to, he would say, is just lovin’ someone anyway. Marci chuckled at the memory.

Oh, Dad. She sighed happily, clasping her Bible to her chest. If it was only that simple. Shaking her head, she returned the Bible to her nightstand and reached for the switch to turn off the light, then snuggled back under the warm covers of her bed.

Rolling away from the empty side of the bed, she closed her eyes and willed sleep to come quickly, knowing that it seldom did. After a few minutes, she pushed herself up on one elbow and repositioned her pillows, trying to get more comfortable. A few more minutes passed, and then she rolled to her other side.

Marci stared at the empty pillows that were now inches from her face. She reached out and rested her hand where another head once used to lie, and she felt the light happiness from just a moment ago quickly being replaced by the familiar weight of grief and regret. This was the hardest part for her: seeing where he used to be, feeling his absence with such clarity. The ache in her stomach grew more intense the longer she lay there remembering.

With a frustrated cry, Marci threw the covers back and climbed out of bed. She walked downstairs to the kitchen where she filled a ceramic mug with water and popped it in the microwave. She pulled a box of chamomile tea bags from the cabinet, and when the microwave beeped, she pulled the mug of hot water out and dropped a tea bag in to steep. Tea in hand, she padded to the living room where she sank into the couch and pulled a small blanket up over herself. She picked a magazine up from the coffee table and began to scan the pages, hoping to find something that would calm her mind. She prayed half-heartedly that the tea and the reading would help her to relax enough that sleep would finally come. It was a familiar routine lately, and she knew she would be lucky to get in a few hours of sleep before it was time to get the kids up and ready for school and herself ready for another day of work.

Marci set her mostly-empty mug on the coffee table and leaned her head back against the arm of the couch. She closed her eyes and did her best to empty her mind. It seemed they had only been closed for a moment when she heard a sweet little voice saying, Mommy, why are you sleeping on the couch? And are we having a stay-at-home day today?

Marci’s eyes snapped open to see her daughter Elayna—or Laynie, as everyone called her—standing in front of her and sunshine streaming through the windows of the living room. She gasped and pulled herself upright so she could see a clock. It read 8:15.

Eight fifteen? No, no, no! She couldn’t be late to work and the kids couldn’t be this late for school! Her mind began to turn in panic, and her stomach twisted with anxiety. And then she remembered that it was President’s Day and the bank was closed. Praise the Lord for bank holidays! And I guess it won’t hurt for the kids to take a day off, too.

Marci relaxed back against the couch, relieved, and looked at her daughter’s cherubic face. You know what, sweetie, we are going to have a stay-at-home day. Or at least a hang-out-with-Mom day! Whadya think of that?

The little girl giggled and threw her arms around her mother’s neck. I think that sounds like fun, Mama! she said.

Good, Marci answered as she hugged her back. Why don’t you get the boys up, and while the three of you are getting dressed I’ll take a shower. Once we’re all ready, let’s go out for pancakes!

Laynie squealed with delight and ran up the stairs shouting, Get up, boys! We get to skip school and go out for breakfast!

Marci chuckled softly and then pushed back her blanket and stood up. She inhaled a deep yawn as she stretched her arms and walked toward the stairs. In her bathroom, she took a quick shower and then pulled on her favorite pair of jeans and a well-worn sweatshirt. She pulled her hair back in a simple ponytail and dabbed her lips with some pale lip gloss.

Marci stopped for a glance at herself in her bedroom mirror before she went to check on the kids’ progress but then paused to give her reflection a more complete assessment. Her face looked pale and drawn, her eyes exhausted. She noticed her jeans and sweatshirt were fitting a little tighter than they used to. I really need to find time to exercise again. If only … Marci shook her head and turned to leave the bedroom.

On the way to the little diner a couple of miles down the road from her house, Marci called the school to let them know the kids wouldn’t be there for the day. She pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant and parked the car, and then she and the kids walked to the front door, the kids chattering excitedly over some new movie they’d seen advertised on television that morning.

Inside the restaurant, the hostess showed the family to a booth in the back corner where Marci slid into one seat next to her daughter and the two boys took the bench opposite them. As she looked over the menu she remembered her reflection in the mirror that morning and the snug fit of her favorite jeans, so she flipped over to the lighter fare section to make her breakfast choice. When the waitress came to take their order, each of the kids asked for pancakes, sausage links, and a fried egg. Marci ordered a bowl of fresh fruit with low-fat yogurt and granola and a cup of coffee.

Mama, Laynie questioned, I thought we were getting pancakes. Laynie’s eyebrows were wrinkled up in a puzzled look.

You and the boys are, sweetie. Marci smiled down at her daughter. Mama’s gonna have some fruit and yogurt.

But pancakes are way better than yogurt, Laynie said, rubbing her tummy.

Marci chuckled. You are right about that. She reached up to affectionately tap the end of her daughter’s adorable nose. I guess I’m just not that hungry this morning. Marci felt a twinge of guilt for her fib, but she didn’t want to explain her true reason for ordering something lighter. Laynie shrugged and went back to her conversation with her brothers.

Marci looked around at the other customers in the restaurant. This time of the morning there weren’t many. At one table sat a group of six men, each one probably well into his seventies, who were drinking coffee and commiserating over the city council’s latest decision regarding the shortage of parking in the downtown area. Several tables over sat another elderly gentleman who was munching on toast and pouring over the morning newspaper. Across the dining room sat two thirty-something women, deep in discussion.

The waitress set a steaming mug of coffee and a bowl containing an assortment of flavored creamers down in front of Marci, bringing her attention back to her own table.

Thank you.

You’re welcome. Your food should be out in just a few minutes.

Marci stirred some vanilla creamer into her coffee and watched her children as they interacted. Their conversation had moved on from the movie preview and they were now discussing the upcoming spelling bees in their classes at school.

It’ll be easy, the younger of the boys bragged.

Nuh-uh, Laynie countered. It’s gonna be scary standing up in front of everyone. What if I spell something wrong?

Marci tousled her daughter’s hair and kissed her on the cheek. Then you’ll be out of the spelling bee, but it’s no big deal. Just do your best and be happy for whoever wins.

Easy for you to say, Mom, the older boy remarked. Spelling’s easy for you. And you always won when you were our age.

Not always, kiddo.

Marci took a sip of her coffee and leaned back contentedly in the booth, still watching her three children.

Nathaniel, the oldest, sat directly across from Marci. He looked so much like his father that seeing him sometimes took Marci’s breath away. He sat straight and tall, his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight that came through the window next to them, his light brown hair just brushing the top of his eyebrows. At only nine years old, Nate was already becoming far too much like his mother in personality, happy with nothing less than perfection. Marci recognized the trait well, as she had carried high expectations of herself for as long as she could remember.

Alexander—Alex—sat next to Nate. At almost eight years old, Alex was nearly as tall as his brother, his dark head coming up even with his brother’s eyebrows. Alex was as different from Nate as night is from day. Where Nate worked hard and worried about doing things perfectly, Alex was more relaxed, confident that his natural abilities would carry him. Nate’s emotions were often plainly visible on his face, but Alex kept his buried deep, masked behind a quick wit. Oftentimes the only indication of what he was feeling was the stormy look in his dark eyes.

And then there was Laynie, the princess and baby of the family. She was clearly Marci’s daughter, both in looks and in temperament. Her chestnut hair pooled around her shoulders, framing her pale face and making her blue eyes shine. At only six years old, Laynie had already learned to hold her trust as a treasure to be shared only once it was proven safe to do so. But once Laynie decided she could trust someone, her devotion was deep and pure. She turned toward Marci and, seeing her mother gazing down at her, flashed her a beaming smile. Marci couldn’t help but smile back at her beautiful sunshine of a daughter.

The moment was broken when the waitress set a steaming plate of pancakes, eggs, and sausage down in front of Laynie, and then placed identical plates in front of the two boys. Marci’s dish of fruit and yogurt appeared in front of her, and after she had thanked the young woman for the food, she reached out and grasped the hands of her oldest son and her daughter.

Nate, do you want to bless our food?

Sure, Mom.

The kids held one another’s hands and they all bowed their heads over their plates.

Dear God, thank you for our food, and thank you for Mom letting us skip school today. In Jesus’ name, amen.

As soon as the word amen was muttered, all the kids began reaching for their forks, eager to dig into their yummy-smelling food. Marci helped Laynie cut her pancakes and pour warm maple syrup over them and then watched to see if Alex would need any help as well. Nate started in on his sausage, smacking his lips in satisfaction. Mealtime was always a bit chaotic with this crew, but most times Marci wouldn’t trade it for the world. It always seemed too calm, too quiet, when the kids were away at their dad’s for the weekend. Their noise made it seem almost as if they were a normal family.

Normal, Marci chuckled to herself. What does normal even look like?

With all three children happily eating their breakfast, Marci picked up her spoon and began to eat her own, pondering what it meant to be a normal family in today’s world.

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That evening, after Marci had tucked the last little person into bed for the night, she sat down at her desk to check the calendar. She wanted to be prepared for what was happening the rest of the week. Tuesday evening was open, but they had church on Wednesday night and she had a parent-teacher conference scheduled for Thursday after work. Alex was having a little trouble getting along with some of his classmates lately and the teacher wanted to talk with Marci about it in person. Before the kids went to bed Thursday night they needed to pack their bags so they could spend the weekend with their dad. He was supposed to be by shortly after 6:00 on Friday evening to pick them up.

Bryan may have been a lousy husband, but he certainly did his best to be a good dad. He generally came to pick the kids up as promised; only once had he been late due to circumstances completely out of his control. Marci had heard other moms at the PTO meetings complain often about their ex-husbands completely blowing off their responsibilities as a father, and she felt fortunate that Bryan made such a tremendous effort to be there for his kids. His child support checks were always on time, although they were never more than the minimum required by their divorce agreement, and he had chosen an apartment with plenty of space for them when they came for their weekend visits. He had taken a week of his vacation time each of the three summers since the divorce and had used it to spend just with the kids, doing whatever they wanted to do. Last summer they had asked him to take them camping. They came back with wild stories of the fish they had caught and the campfire tales their dad had filled their heads with. Marci smiled at the memory of their excitement as they recounted all the details of their week.

The only fault Marci could find with her ex-husband as a father was that it seemed that every few months he had a new girlfriend for the kids to meet. Marci was adamant that there were no overnight stays for the girlfriends while the kids were at his apartment. It was hard enough for them to deal with their dad’s revolving love life; they didn’t need an early lesson on the birds and the bees, too. So far he had been willing to honor her wishes in this regard.

Marci rubbed her eyes with her fingertips in an attempt to erase the image of her ex-husband with his last flame. She had no idea who he was with at the moment, but she was sure it was some young bombshell whose body had never experienced the abuse of bearing children. Bryan had always had a thing for thin, busty brunettes. The image of her reflection from earlier in the day flashed through Marci’s mind again and she sighed, knowing that her body would never again look as good as it did before her children were born. She looked up at the pictures of her three children hanging on the wall above her desk and was quickly reminded that they were worth every stretch mark and every ounce of retained fat. Sure, she would never have a bikini body again, but she had the most beautiful blessings that anyone could ask for, and she wouldn’t trade any of them for even the most perfect figure.

Still, Marci couldn’t help but wonder how different life would be if her body hadn’t changed so much in the last ten years. Marci sighed and stood up. There was no use in sitting around wondering what if. She still had dinner dishes to take care of and laundry to fold, and then she needed to try to get some sleep. She cast a glance at her treadmill as she walked past it and for a fleeting moment considered getting on it for a while once her chores were done, but then decided that her bed sounded much more appealing.

Maybe tomorrow, she muttered as she walked out of the office toward the kitchen.

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Chapter 2

F riday morning dawned bright and clear. The February air was crisp, but there were no clouds in the sky and Marci was hopeful that the sun would shine throughout the day. Winter was difficult for Marci; the often cloudy skies made her feel as gloomy as the sky looked, and a day of sunshine always did miracles for her spirit. She knew that today she would need all the help she could get.

After she dropped the kids off at their elementary school, Marci headed to the bank where she worked as a customer service representative. She knew it would probably be a busy day in the office since it was Friday. She prayed silently as she drove that her customers would be kind and patient. She wasn’t sure she could endure too many cranky people on this of all days.

The morning passed quickly as Marci worked through the stack of paperwork on her desk with only a few customers needing her help. She used her lunch hour to run a few errands that she wouldn’t have time to do after work. She hadn’t had time that morning to pack anything to eat, so she considered the available drive-through options but opted instead to swing by a convenience store and pick up a protein shake.

When she walked back into the bank, Marci found an elderly woman she knew from church waiting to speak with her.

Mrs. Miller, how nice to see you today. How are you feeling?

Fine, fine, the older woman answered. But I wondered if you could help me with something.

Sure, Mrs. Miller, come right on into my office and I’ll see what I can do.

Once seated across from Marci at her desk, Mrs. Miller pulled out a worn checkbook and a stack of papers. I can’t seem to make much sense of all these numbers, she began to explain. Merle was always the one who took care of the money. Now that he’s gone I’ve been trying to keep up, but I think I’ve just made a big mess of it all.

Marci smiled compassionately as she reached across the desk to take the papers from the woman. I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Miller. I’m sure we can get all of this figured out for you.

Marci worked with Mrs. Miller for a little more than an hour, balancing her check register and organizing her paperwork. Marci did her best to teach the older woman as she went, but she had a suspicion that this would not be the last time she helped her with the process. She didn’t mind. Mrs. Miller was a sweet and kind woman who always made a point to greet Marci and her children at church on Sunday mornings. When her husband passed away two months ago, Marci attended the funeral along with many others whose lives the couple had touched. They had been married for sixty-two years, and Marci couldn’t even begin to fathom what it must be like to lose someone you had loved for that long.

Marci and Bryan had been married for a little over ten years when he filed for divorce. While her husband didn’t die, Marci still felt like she had lost a very important part of herself. She was sure she hadn’t handled her grieving process with nearly as much grace and composure as she’d seen Mrs. Miller display, and she truly admired the older woman for her example.

Marci filed Mrs. Miller’s papers and receipts neatly in a three-ring binder with the bank’s logo printed on the front and handed it across the desk.

Here you go. And if you need help again getting things figured out, please don’t hesitate to call or come in and see me. I am more than happy to help.

Thank you, honey. And I’ll see you and those beautiful kids of yours on Sunday morning.

They’ll be with their dad this weekend, but I’ll be there.

Well, you tell them Mrs. Miller said hello. And tell their dad that I’m still praying for him.

I will, Mrs. Miller, I will. Marci stood and walked around her desk to give the older woman a gentle hug and then walked with her to the bank lobby.

Before she turned to walk out of the bank, Mrs. Miller grabbed Marci by the arm and looked intently into her eyes. I know your husband gave up on you and your marriage, but I also know that you still love him. Don’t ever give up praying for him, do you hear me? The Lord hears our prayers, and he loves your husband more than you could ever imagine. He’s just waiting for Bryan to realize that he’s there. So you keep praying and you keep believing that God will work a miracle in that young man’s life.

Thank you, Mrs. Miller. Marci’s voice caught in her throat and she found herself fighting back tears. I … I won’t stop praying.

That’s a good girl. I’ll see you on Sunday. Mrs. Miller patted Marci’s arm and then turned and walked toward the door.

Marci stood watching her leave, then turned and walked slowly back to her office. She sat at her desk for a moment, pondering Mrs. Miller’s unsolicited advice, still a little unnerved by how deeply the words had affected her. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and turned her attention back to her computer screen and the work that waited there for her.

The rest of the afternoon passed without incident, and at five o’clock sharp Marci left the bank and went to pick her kids up from their after-school sitter.

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Adrienne Bridgeport and her husband lived just down the street from Marci in a two-story red house. They had an eighteen-month-old daughter, Hannah, that Adrienne stayed home with, and she was happy to have Marci’s three kids stay with her for a couple of hours every day after school. Not only did she make a little extra money by babysitting, but it also provided a built-in helper for the afternoon. Laynie adored baby Hannah and was quite content to watch over her for a little while each afternoon while Adrienne started dinner for her family. It turned out to be a