Finding Grace In A Graceless World

I've been thinking lately about grace, that subtle pleasing quality that seems to have gone out of favor in our country right along with the woman's name of the same spelling.  I guess one of the reasons I've been thinking about this is because Grace is my middle name.  Like most people with first and middle names, often chosen by their parents after months of serious deliberation and debate, I generally have relegated my middle name to its least common denominator, the initial "G."  I wonder sometimes how my Grandmother Grace might feel about this; after all, what is the point of having a baby named after you if the baby grows up and never uses the name?

I think I stopped liking my middle name because of my Father.  When I was growing up, I actually thought my name was Alicia Fullofgrace McMahon.  Yes, thanks to my Dad who must have thought this nickname cute, I stood up in front of the whole class that first day of First Grade and introduced myself that way.  Well, it's not a very good idea to tell a nun who will soon be teaching you the "Hail Mary, full of grace," that you're already full of it and won't be needing Mary's help.  I remember Mother Dorothy opening her eyes wide and saying, "Is that so?  Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?  Sit down now, Alicia Fullofgrace," and I sat down so fast, the desk and I all but crashed to the floor.

From then on I generally ignored my middle name.  Most of the time I didn't even use its initial.  After all, it was an old-fashioned sounding name and I was having enough trouble being the only Alicia in the school.  But something happens as you get older.  You start thinking about your past and your origins and in my case because I like to write, about the origins and meanings of words.  I guess it was only a matter of time that Grace and I would find each other again.

Although composed of only one syllable, grace is not a simple word.  Unlike most names that won't even be found in a dictionary, grace and its derivatives comprise almost 2/3 of the page in my old World Book Dictionary.  It has thirteen definitions as a noun; three as a verb.  Grace is beauty of form, movement or manner.  Grace is a pleasing or agreeable quality.  It is good will, mercy and forgiveness; it is the love and influence of God (for those who believe) in our lives.  Grace is a blessing before meals and a little extra time to pay our bills.  It is a title for an archbishop and an ornamental note in music.  It is kindness and courtesy and elegance in five simple letters.  How could anyone not like such a name?  How could I have ever stopped liking it?

Perhaps the answer (apart from my Father's influence) is that I never felt like any of those things growing up.  I never felt elegant or beautiful or, dare I say, graceful.  I was the middle sister of two brothers who wore coonskin caps and ran around the neighborhood tracking bears or shooting bad guys or throwing footballs.  One of our favorite summer activities was "dirty apricot fights" where any rotten fruit from our prodigious tree was thrown at each other like yellow summer snowballs.  If there was anything graceful about me back then, I can't imagine what it was.

I hate to say it but it seems to me that there isn't a whole lot of grace in our society these days.  Believe me, I'm no prude but I don't think you have to be some kind of saint just to be courteous and kind to one another.  Too often manners and common courtesy have been replaced by rude gestures and ruder remarks.  I know that fashions and mores change but grace is somehow timeless.  It is that quality of beauty, kindness and gentleness that has less to do with one's outer appearance than with the inner make-up of one's soul.

And, now that I think about it, perhaps that is what my Grandmother Grace hoped most that I would inherit from her and not just the five letters of her name.