The Unseen Thread called Grace by Deborah Usak

I remember one night rain fell like more than thousands of arrows against the rusted roof of my childhood home. I didn’t tag it as just water from the sky- it was a flood of memories and thrilling pain of a young girl kneeling by a tattered Bible, trying to grasp a love so vast and massive. So much so that it felt almost unreachable.
My mother had left long before I could tie my shoe laces or even form words strong enough to beg her to stay. All I was left with was a struggling father- a man too broken by life’s weight, man who enjoyed finding solace at the bottom of bottles. Home was my very own battlefield and I was a lone soldier fighting for a lost cause.
But in the midst of that turbulent storm laid a buried answer, hidden in the fragile pages of 2nd Peter 1: 4, “whereby are given unto us exceeding great and precious promises: that by these ye might be partakers of the divine nature, having escaped the corruption that is in the world through lust”. I kept reading these words over and over again until I felt it carve a hole into my heart. It was a revelation, I wasn’t just surviving for the sake of it, and God had shown me a way out. Despite the cracks in my home that caused a lingering emptiness within me, I carried in me a divine nature. His promises were never for the perfect or even the righteous, they were for the lost, the sinners. They were for those who felt unloved, those who felt unworthy, and those who just wanted some time of hope to hold on to. And no matter how they wandered about in corruption, lust and ungodliness, his promises stood firmly on truth that they will always be partakers of the divine nature no matter what.
Just in moments where I could feel consumed and overwhelmed by his word. Another swallowed me whole. John 14: 20 echoed in my spirit like a quiet whisper. “At that day ye shall know that I am in my father, and ye in me, and I in you”.

And yes...I wasn’t alone, never had been. And that alone was the most beautiful thing about grace, it wasn’t loud. It seeped into cracks of our souls filling every space we thought would forever be empty. To be a partaker of his grace is to know that we walk with more than our strength. It is the realization that every tear streaked night and every unanswered prayer is still held in the palm of his hand. We are in him-our identities are not rooted in our pain but in his promises. So, when the world tells you, you are nothing- that your past defines your future-just remember this: you carry a divine nature in you. One that screams of all that Jesus Christ is. God’s grace is not a onetime gift, it is constant and ever outpouring, a never-drying river, and a love that calls you home when you’ve wandered far enough.

To me, I will always be that hopeless girl that keeps kneeling down by her tattered Bible on a stormy night without realizing that I have become a woman who now stands not by my own strength, but by the unyielding grace of God. So unseen a long lasting thread you will never know that you are attached to. Every one of us, was born out of pain, seen pain, felt pain and endured pain but something keeps our head high, not too big, just something small and it has to do with the fact that we are all partakers of his grace. All we have to do is keeping hoping, with our monster seed faith as our armour. Grace has always been something so delicate— how it moves without sound, yet leaves an echo in the heart has been a mystery. It does not clamor for attention, nor does it demand recognition. It simply exists — unseen, but unyielding.

I remember how often I question my worth, how many nights I lay awake, tangled in the thorns of self-doubt. My father’s brokenness became a shadow over my life. His silence was a language I struggled to understand — a cruel dialect of pain, a haunting reminder that even love could become distant. Yet, it was in the hollowness of a place i tried to call home that grace tiptoed in. There were days I would stare at that tattered Bible for hours, not reading, just watching its worn pages flutter like wings in the wind. It was a silent promise — a whisper of something greater than my suffering. I didn’t know it then, but every time I opened that Bible, I was tugging on an unseen thread, connecting my frailty to a divine strength.My silent batles grace covered them all.

By being a partaker of his grace, it does not promise an escape from pain, but it offers a covering — a gentle reminder that even in our brokenness, we are never truly shattered. I think back to the day my finally father left me. He didn’t pack a suitcase or leave a note; he simply disappeared like smoke into the night. I was ten years old. My aunt, a stern woman with a voice like thunder, took me in, but her home was never mine. Her words were sharp as knives, always reminding me that I was an unwanted burden — a child of a wayward man and a mother who will never be present. I could have let bitterness consume me. I could have allowed rejection to build walls around my heart. But grace — oh, that silent thread — kept me alive. Just like he promised. It didn’t harden me; it healed me in ways I didn’t even recognize at the time. John 14:20 was always my anchor. I held on to it tight. It was a reminder that even if I felt abandoned by people, I was never abandoned by God. I was in Him, and He was in me. Our souls intertwined like threads in a vast tapestry. In him I had the power of divine Identity.

One of the most beautiful revelations grace gave me was this: I am more than my pain. For years, I had allowed my identity to be tied to my circumstances. I was the girl whose mother left. The girl whose father vanished. The girl living under an aunt’s roof, constantly reminded of how little she belonged and how belittled she will always be. But grace stripped those labels away.
2nd Peter 1:4 echoed in my mind like a song I couldn’t stop singing: oh! how wonderful was it to be partakers of the divine nature. That meant I wasn’t just a girl with a painful past — I was a child of God, sharing in His divine identity. My wounds did not define me; His promises did. And so, I began to speak differently. Pray differently. Walk differently. It wasn’t arrogance — it was grace manifesting in confidence. I no longer carried myself like a victim of life’s cruelty. I stood as someone who knew she carried the essence of the divine within her. I started noticing the unseen threads in others too. In the joy of motherhood and the scream of success. It was pure proof that this grace wasn't just for me. It covered everyone, sinner or not. There was the woman at church who smiled at everyone but had pain in her eyes. She was always the first to offer a word of encouragement, yet you could tell she was battling her own unseen storms. Grace wrapped around her like a hidden cloak, keeping her strong when she felt weak. There was also the boy down the street — the one everyone whispered about because his mother was an addict and his father was in prison. And every time I saw him his lips would move as if he was reciting something to himself. There was no difference between me and him.

There's this thing about grace — it doesn’t just belong to you. It searches for your humility and hopelessness. It weaves itself into the lives of those who least expect it. And when grace feels absent. Well, I won’t pretend it always feels easy. There were days when I couldn’t feel grace at all. Days when my prayers seemed to bounce off the ceiling and back into my chest. There were moments I wondered if I was truly “partaking” in any divine nature or if I was just a lonely girl clinging to a fantasy. But grace isn’t a feeling — it’s a fact. It doesn’t fade just because we can’t perceive it. It doesn’t weaken just because we are too exhausted to recognize it. Even in our silence, grace speaks. Even in our emptiness, grace overflows. Today, I live in overflowing joy. His promises are indeed here and Amen. I am truly no longer the girl kneeling by a tattered Bible on a stormy night. I am a woman standing on the unshakable foundation of God’s grace. I have learned that to be a partaker of His grace is to live boldly — not because I am strong, but because He is. It means embracing the truth that His love is not conditional, and His promises are not for the perfect, but for the willing. So when the world whispers that you are too broken to be loved — remember, grace already claimed you. When your past threatens to define your future — remember, you carry a divine nature within you. Most of all, when you feel like your prayers are unanswered — remember, grace works in the unseen places. We are all bound by this thread — this unseen thread called grace — weaving through our pain, our joy, and our hopes. And with every silent stitch, it pulls us closer to the One who has always been within us and will forever be.