When scientists say our taste buds and the foods we like or dislike are constantly shifting, they aren’t kidding. In the past 18 months, my most wild craving for an exquisite meal is something I used to despise: lasagna. Really, any kind of carb dripping in red sauce tempts me, but there’s something specific about lasagna that I can’t get enough of. 

When I’m sitting and thinking about how much I love lasagna, I start to realize that there’s a problem here (other than the fact it is grossly unhealthy to daydream about my passion for food). Sometimes I wish life could be as simple as a heaping pile of lasagna. And here’s what I mean: sometimes I’d rather dive into layers of saucy, thick noodles and finely chopped sausage than my homework or to-do list. 

But when I’m the one cooking—oh brother. You better have the local Italian joint on speed dial just in case. When I’m the one throwing this meal together, it will probably turn out more like crunchy noodles swimming in canned red sauce than a gourmet dish served from the heart. Definitely not restaurant-worthy. 

But that’s the thing… Who said I had to make restaurant-worthy lasagna? Who said I had to master the craft of Italian cooking, or even cooking in general? Oh yeah. No one. 

So why would I expect that out of myself? Why would I expect perfection when it’s not even something I need to put my energy towards in the first place? It’s a small, silly example, but it’s an illustration of how easy it is for me to criticize myself or expect the impossible: perfection. In everything, all the time. 

If you’re anything like me, you know the deep, aching need we have for grace. It’s like sitting in the shade-less desert, waiting for rain to fall from the seemingly silent sky. Any droplet would help relieve the pressure we put on ourselves.

To get the good grade. 

To finish the project perfectly. 

To send that thoughtful text message at the right time. 

To eat healthily and exercise and do collagen face masks and cut out sugar + all toxins. 

To be the super-friend that I think my friends need. 

To never miss a class, miss a birthday text, miss a beat. 

To use every. single. second productively.

To do everything better.

To be better. 

To be perfect. 

It’s exhausting. My body shudders just thinking about it because the crippling fatigue and pressure are all too familiar. 

And as if that wasn’t enough, in this season the world seems to be falling apart before our eyes. The restrictions and regulations and rules regarding safe Covid practices are no longer temporary fixes—they are our way of life for the indefinite future. The virtual classes and virtual everything is taking a toll. Not to mention the political, racial, social, and national tension right now. There’s simply a lot going on. But when I feel all of these things, it doesn’t feel so simple. It feels more like everything is combusting and splattering on the oven walls within me. 

So I remind myself. Maybe instead of running after this list of high standards and self-created expectations, maybe I look up. ook to the One who wants me to be the best that I can be—yes—but who never expects me to be perfect. The One who doesn’t even want me to try. Maybe I focus on the One who knows our world is sitting in a lot of uncomfortable, uncertain scenarios right now, and who is here to bring me peace like a river through it all. 

So we insert grace. Oh, sweet grace.

I need more grace than I can comprehend, and I’m also the one who needs to allow it to enter into my life. I can’t muster it up myself; I can’t create grace, no matter how hard I try. But I can allow it to flow freely into my days and on top of my self-concocted expectations and standards and to-do lists. I can sprinkle grace on my life like mozzarella on my lasagna—intentionally and endlessly.

I need to keep shaking and shaking and shaking that little salt-shaker-full-of-mozzarella-that’s-at-literally-every-Italian-restaurant-ever until I wonder if it’s too much. I need to keep pouring on the grace, and maybe more urgently, I need to give myself the freedom to receive it. To let it soak in and relieve both the tension I created for myself with expectations and the tension in my life that I can’t control. 

No matter what we’re dealing with or what pressure we have unfairly placed on ourselves, we can rest assured that we have an endless supply of grace at our disposal every single second—a priceless gift from God. We don’t have to worry about it running low or getting too spread thin. It’s not like we got a fixed amount when we were born and it’s our job to ration it out over the course of our lives. We don’t have to worry about our friend across the table needing some, too, because we each have an endless supply. From Jesus’ fullness, we have all received grace upon grace (John 1:16). Not some of us—all of us.  

My little jar on the table might run low, but the waiter is always nearby and willing to bring the black bucket and ask, “More mozzarella?” He will probably keep shoveling it on until we think he’s a little crazy, even after we’ve asked him to stop. But no matter what we try to tell ourselves about cutting back a few calories or skipping the dairy or feeling invincible, deep down we know we need it. And we need to know that it’s okay to ask for it and to accept it. We are all human. 

We need grace. So much grace. 

And. 

Oh, the sweet And. It gets me every time. 

And. It wouldn’t be right of me to talk about grace without talking about its counterpart: grit. 

We can’t dig into our dinner if we don’t pick up the fork and knife. We have to cut into it, choosing to do the work to enjoy what’s before us. We have to secure the lasagna on the landing pad of our fork. We have to (carefully before it falls on our lap) bring the knife to our mouths. We have to keep going. And if it gets messy, that’s okay (that’s almost always a guarantee when there’s red sauce involved). 

Just because we need—and receive—grace doesn’t mean we get to sit in a puddle of our tears from the self-pity party we threw last night. That’s where grace comes in—we can acknowledge the hardships and our inherent need for grace, and we can celebrate the fact that God’s mercy covers all of our shortcomings. But sitting and staring at our dinner plate is not going to do anything except waste a perfectly good piece of lasagna. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to do that. I want to enjoy it, to soak it up, and to do whatever I need to do to get those noodles in my mouth ASAP. 

I’m thinking the same thing about life these days—I need more grace than I even want to admit, honestly, but I’m not questioning it. I can’t fight the fact that I’m human, that I will never do everything (or anything) perfectly, or that I can’t control the world or people around me. I will always need grace.

So I accept it, and I pick up the fork and keep going. There’s too much Italian goodness waiting to be enjoyed not to.