It's a good thing that my parents didn't consider naming me "Grace." It just wouldn't have fit my lack thereof. The latest incident happened in the parking lot of my mom's nursing home. I was walking with my son and nephew, trying to be completely tuned in to the conversation at hand. And that's when it happened. My feet became completely flabbergasted as I reached the speed bump. I'm still unclear about the order of events. All that I remember is the feeling of flying in slow motion, followed by an extremely long slide. Silence came and then the pain hit. This time, I decided to catch my breath before taking inventory. The boys found my glasses a few feet away and then gasped as they saw this middle aged woman with skinned knees, bloody palms and a swollen lip. The reception was just as wonderful when I had to return to the nursing home lobby and ask for a band-aid. As I filled out the idiot (oops, incident) report, I felt even more foolish.

How often does God provide me with warnings and cautions in my faith? In my quest to do the right thing, am I ignoring the guidance that he has provided? As my scrapes and bumps heal, I'm going to reflect on the recent problems that I could have avoided. That might come in handy as I join my family tubing down the Chattahoochee tomorrow.