The Grace My Mother Taught Me

There’s a section in Soul Weathered devoted entirely to grace.

Not grace as a theological idea.

But grace as something lived.

Patsy Folk, my mom.

Something seen.

Something experienced in ordinary moments that quietly change the way you see people forever.

One of those moments happened when I was a teenager.

My mother worked at a Bible bookstore in Hickory, NC , and one day I was in the store looking through music when I started hearing raised voices.

I looked over and saw an angry customer confronting my mom over a misprinted name on a Bible.

And I remember immediately reacting.

I was seventeen years old, and everything in me wanted to step in.

Honestly, I wanted to confront him physically for speaking to her that way.

As I started moving toward them, my mother looked over at me and silently gave me a look that said:

Don’t come over here.

So I stopped.

And I watched.

Eventually the man left.

The situation settled down.

But I still remember the anger I felt afterward.

And I remember what my mother said to me.

“Mark… you don’t know what kind of day that man has had.”

At the time, it felt almost unfair.

Why should he receive understanding after treating her that way?

But something about those words stayed with me.

You don’t know what someone has been through.

You don’t know the pain they carry. The fear they live under. The wounds they never healed from. The pressure they’re under. The battles happening underneath the surface.

That moment changed something in me.

Not instantly.

Not perfectly.

But deeply.

I think it was the beginning of me learning what grace actually looks like.

Not just forgiveness.

But seeing people through a different lens.

And over the years, I’ve found that when God gives us insight into someone’s story, it becomes much harder to hate them.

Much harder to judge them quickly.

Not impossible.

But harder.

Now, I’m not naïve.

There is evil in the world.

People make sinful choices.

We are all capable of damaging one another through our flesh, our pride, our selfishness, and our wounds.

But grace has taught me to pause long enough to wonder:

What brought this person here?

When my mother passed away a few years ago, I was standing beside her bed with my wife and my father during the final moments of her life.

And one of the very last things I told her was this:

“Thank you for teaching me grace.”

Because looking back now, I realize that lesson shaped almost everything about how I’ve tried to walk through life since then.

And honestly, I still fail at it regularly.

I still judge people too quickly sometimes.

I still become frustrated.

Still irritated.

Still self-righteous in moments.

But over and over, God keeps pulling me back toward grace.

Not just grace for others.

But grace for myself.

And if I’m honest, that’s the harder battle.

I can usually find compassion for someone else eventually.

But I am often ruthless with myself.

Hard on myself in ways I would never be toward another person.

Critical. Impatient.

Demanding.

And sometimes I speak to myself internally in ways Christ never would.

As I write this, I feel convicted by that.

Because the grace of God was never meant to stop at forgiveness.

It was meant to continue shaping how we live… and even how we see ourselves.

God has shown me grace beyond measure.

Not only in forgiving my sin—

But in continuing to love me through my failures, weaknesses, fears, and repeated shortcomings.

Again and again.

And maybe part of spiritual maturity is learning to agree with God’s mercy toward us instead of constantly fighting it.

Maybe part of becoming whole is learning to stop cursing ourselves when Christ has already spoken forgiveness.

That doesn’t mean we excuse sin.

It doesn’t mean we stop growing.

But it does mean we stop living as if shame is more powerful than grace.

And maybe some of us need to hear that today.

Not just about other people.

But about ourselves.

Let me ask you this—

Who do you struggle most to give grace to?

Someone else…

or yourself?