When Jeans Became a Lesson in Grace

I have thought about this memory more times than I can count, although it still surprises me when it comes back with such clarity. My grandmother was the one who steadied us after my parents divorced. She carried so much on her shoulders, yet there was this soft sort of grace that seemed to move with her. Most Sundays she dressed up for church, the kind of outfit that made her look almost regal, but in a humble way. Then one Sunday, she stepped out of her room in jeans. I remember pausing, almost blinking too many times, because it felt slightly out of place and I didn’t know how to interpret it as a child.

When we arrived at church, she didn’t lead us to our usual pew. Instead, she guided us quietly to sit beside a woman who was also wearing jeans. I watched them exchange a simple smile. Nothing dramatic, but something in it felt full, almost like a whole story tucked inside a moment. After the meeting ended, curiosity got the better of me. I finally asked why she did that. She squeezed my hand, gently, the way she always did when she wanted me to really hear her, and said something that has stayed with me ever since.

She whispered, almost like she was sharing a secret meant to be carried slowly, “Sis, sometimes we are the yeast and sometimes we are the bread, we need both to grow.”

I still sit with those words. I think about how she taught me without a lecture, how she showed me that showing up for someone can be as simple as choosing where you sit so they do not feel alone. She was never trying to impress anyone. She was simply present. And maybe that is why she always felt so much like Jesus to me.

So when I hear that question, when have you met someone whose face or words radiated the love and peace of Jesus, I think of her first. There was nothing grand about her kindness. It settled into a room quietly, then lifted everyone in it. Perhaps that is what drew me in. She never set out to change people, she simply sat beside them, jeans and all, reminding them they belonged.

And I suppose, if I am honest, I wonder if that is what we are invited to do too.

Not perfectly, not all at once, but in our own gentle, sometimes hesitant way.