But the mere thought of planning a shower or a reception makes my stomach hurt, I'm whimpering. Besides, I'm not sure I approve.

You don't have to approve, she's saying firmly. Pull yourself together and act like a mother.

Grace is sometimes stern.

So, as though to demonstrate, she and Caroline and Julie invite about 30 friends an eclectic mix, representing neighborhoods we've lived in,

churches and organizations we've belonged to to a Mother-of-the-bride/mother-in-law-to-be/grandma-to-be shower.

Grace is a living room filled with laughter and cries of "Surprise!" and the crunch of gift-wrap. Grace is a stack of manuals on grandparenting;

baskets of games, pencils, sponges, and bubble-bath, provisions for grandchildren's visits; picture frames and albums for the inevitable bragging.

Grace is a dining room glittering with silver and candlelight, a table laden with Caroline's baking, daylilies from Julie's legendary garden, coffee

from Viki's elegant silver service.

Most of the women in that room are committed to jobs or families all week, and no doubt cherish their Sunday afternoons to be with their own

grandchildren, or to garden or wallpaper or even just to read and indulge themselves after a busy week.

Instead, they gave those precious hours to me.

That's grace.

And so they instructed me, these graceful women, guiding me through my own passage from self-indulgent semi-retired housewife and writer to

matriarch of a new family. You will introduce Jean's new husband and family to the community, they declared, and pledged comfort and support.

"A sense of what is right and proper..." They were as good as their word.

Grace at work:

Donna and Marquita transforming a barn-like church hall into a garden for a reception, with wisteria, ferns and bridal-wreath erupting like a

fountain. Small trees, dragged in clay pots from their own quiet patios and gardens, looked surprised to find themselves indoors, until they became a bower

of greenery to soften the walls.

Husbands conscripted for muscle-power, grumbling predictably. When Julie, who had already contributed bagsful of greenery and flowers, called to

say she wouldn't be able to come the EMTs were on their way because her husband had fallen from a ladder and broken his shoulder one of the

hapless husbands wrestling with heavy tables remarked, "Now why didn't I think of that?"

Bonnie appearing with a CD player and music, Sonya helping push and shove whatever needed pushing and shoving, Caroline pouring punch,

Viki presiding over her coffee service.

An artist named Marquita, arranging family pictures of the bride and groom growing up, and declaring it "fun." Left to me, the photos would never

have made it out of the desk drawer.

A caterer named Missy who went beyond what she was paid to do by offering encouragement and calm when I panicked over numbers: How

many meringue puffs will 80 people eat?

Grace is a cadre of people, whose lives are already impossibly busy, sacrificing most of a precious Saturday to friendship. They brought honor

and dignity; they saw to it that tribal rites were carried out.

The operational definition still borders on the theological: unmerited, unearned love and favor. My heart overflows in gratitude.

I looked up "gratitude." Comes from the same Latin root, gratus, pleasing, and then it says, "See grace."

Amazing grace!

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