We live in a world of immediacy—instant downloads, instant answers, instant gratification. But grace is not in a hurry.

We want God to work fast, to fix things now. We cry out in our failures, “Lord, change me, make me new!” And He does—but not always in the way we expect. Grace takes its time. It heals at the speed of trust. It reshapes at the pace of love. It is never rushed, but it is never late.

The Apostle Paul called grace “sufficient” (2 Corinthians 12:9), meaning it is always enough, but it is also measured, given in just the right portions, at just the right times. We receive what we need for today, and when tomorrow comes, grace will be there waiting.

You may not see the change overnight. You may not feel transformed in an instant. But the slow work of grace is more certain than the morning sun. Keep walking. Keep trusting. Grace is always on time.

Some people think grace is fragile, a delicate thing that must be handled carefully. But the truth is, grace is stubborn. It is relentless. It is the grip of God’s hand on your life, refusing to let go.

David knew this grace. He wrote, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life” (Psalm 23:6). That word for “follow” is more than a casual trailing behind. It’s a pursuit. Grace is God’s relentless chasing, tracking us down in the dark places, breaking through locked doors, scaling our walls of self-defense.

You don’t have to earn this grace, and you can’t outrun it. The hound of heaven is on your heels. Even when you resist, even when you wander, even when you feel like you’ve slipped through the cracks, grace finds you. It holds you. It won’t let you go.

The Prodigal Son’s story isn’t just a moment of reckless rebellion followed by a single act of repentance. It is a long, dust-covered road, stretching from the pigpen to the Father’s embrace. Grace meets us not only at the end of the journey but every aching step along the way.

We imagine grace as a moment—a decision, a single event, an instant transformation. But grace is slower than that. It is the faithful persistence of a Father watching the road. It is the steady work of the Spirit, turning our hearts back home before our feet ever follow. It is the quiet patience of love waiting for our return.

God’s grace doesn’t just forgive us; it reorients us. It changes the way we walk. The Christian life is less about grasping grace and more about being grasped by it—shaped by it, carried forward in it, sustained by it.

We don’t just need grace for the moment of salvation. We need it for the long walk home.