Yesterday we drove down to Ohio for my cousin’s son’s first birthday party. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to expect—first birthday parties can be hit or miss. The kid either screams through the whole thing or steals the show. But this little guy? He was the chillest one-year-old I’ve ever met. You know the type—laid back, wide-eyed, just quietly taking it all in like he’s trying to figure out how the world works before jumping in. I kind of respect that approach.
Now, the best part—his cake. That iconic moment where everyone crowds around, phones up, waiting for the smash. Except… there was no smash. No face dive. No handful to the hair. This kid? He sat there like a little food critic. Just stared at the cake like, “Hmm, what do we have here?” He gently reached out, touched the frosting, got a little on his fingers. Took a taste. Waited. Then another bite. Then he found his way to the actual cake under all the icing—and the moment he tasted that? His eyes lit up like he had just discovered magic. Like, “Why didn’t you tell me it was this good?!”
But then… grandma stepped in. She thought he’d had enough—maybe too much sugar, maybe just trying to clean him up—and took the cake away. And his eyes… oh, his eyes. You would’ve thought she took away Christmas. He didn’t cry. He just looked stunned. Heartbroken. Like he had tasted joy and someone told him it wasn’t for him anymore.
Of course, she gave it back. Because no grandma can stand between a grandbaby and joy for long. And the second she did, the light returned. He went right back to it. Happy. Content. Soaking in every sweet, messy, glorious bite.
And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
Because that’s Grace.
It sneaks up on us, doesn’t it? At first, it seems too good to be true. We hear about it—this love without condition, this forgiveness that doesn’t require payment, this hope we didn’t earn—and we poke at it. Test it. Take a cautious bite.
And then… the more we taste it, the more we experience it, the more we realize just how unbelievably good it really is. Sweeter than we imagined. Deeper than we expected. And we want more—not because we’re greedy or entitled, but because Grace awakens something in us that we didn’t know was there. A hunger for real joy. A longing for love that doesn’t flinch when we fall short.
But here’s the thing.
Somewhere along the way, some of us who’ve been walking with Grace a little longer… we start to forget. We get tidy. Cautious. Maybe even a little uncomfortable with how messy and generous Grace can be.
We see someone just starting to experience it—someone still covered in crumbs and icing, still figuring it out—and we think, maybe they’ve had enough for now. Maybe they need to clean up a little. Prove they can handle it. Show they’ve earned another bite.
But that’s not how Grace works.
Grace was never meant to be portioned out.
Grace isn’t reserved for the polished or the proven.
Grace was already bought and paid for—by Jesus, with arms wide open and a table set for everyone. It was never about being ready for it. It was always about being invited into it.
Whether it’s your first taste or your one millionth, Grace is still just as sweet. Still just as undeserved. Still just as freely given.
So if you’re showing up with sticky hands and a messy heart today, don’t worry—you don’t have to earn another bite. And if you’re watching someone else get their first taste and it feels like “too much,” maybe let this be your reminder: God’s not running out of Grace. There’s enough for them. There’s enough for you. There’s enough for all of us.
Because that’s who He is.
A God who doesn’t take the cake away.
A God who doesn’t make you wait until you’ve earned it.
A God who loves you too much to leave you hungry.
So go ahead—take another bite.
It’s still just as sweet.