How Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter Schooled Me on Grace and Hope

The word “grace” is beautiful in both its meanings. One meaning is elegance and refinement. Another meaning is that life (or God) will provide what we need without considering whether we deserve it or not. Viewing the world as a stage on which grace plays out can be hard when we carry guilt and shame.

One of my lessons in grace came from an unexpected source. I crossed paths with President Jimmy Carter twice in my life. The first time I was twenty-nine years old. My sister was married to a Michigan congressman. Through her connections, I was invited to Carter’s inauguration (including tickets to the Inaugural Ball). As I was not long out of college and money was scarce, my wife had to buy a dress at the local K-mart and sew some appliques on it. I rented a tuxedo for the ball and borrowed an overcoat to withstand the cold January Washington, DC weather.

Despite our humble garments, we got more praise than the other couples who attended dinner before the ball. We were with a group of elites wearing Paris-original gowns and expensive tuxedos. We were younger than the rest. We stood out in our feigned elegance. Then I got inelegantly drunk. By the time we reached the ball I got it in my alcohol-emboldened head that I was going to dance with the First Lady.

Fortunately, President and Mrs. Carter had already finished their ceremonial dance and left before we got there. The only dance I would have gotten was with the Secret Service, waltzing me out of there in a hurry.

I woke up the next morning with a terrible hangover and a profound feeling of dread. I was ashamed that I turned the honor of a presidential invitation into a dishonorable drunken spree. I had no idea then that I would meet the Carters one day under very different circumstances.

Fast-forward twenty years. I’m living a sober life by then. We took a family trip to Plains Georgia (Carter’s hometown) to celebrate my father and mother in-law’s anniversary. We stayed in a bed and breakfast, and the next morning attended the Sunday School class where President Carter was giving the lesson. We arrived a little late and seated ourselves in the front pew which was still empty.

Just before the lesson started two Secret Service agents ushered in Rosalynn Carter and asked us to find a place in the back so she could sit in the front row. She shooed them away and told them to leave us where we were. She joined us in the pew.

Then Jimmy came in and started to speak. After a brief introduction, he announced that he needed to inform us that he had a policy of not giving autographs before or after the lesson, because he didn’t believe it was appropriate to do so at a church. My thirteen-year-old daughter, Hilary, was sitting next to Rosalynn. I saw my daughter’s chin drop because she had a postcard in hand, ready for his signature.

Without saying a word, Mrs. Carter discreetly reached over and took the post card from my daughter’s hand, signed it, and handed it back.

We took family pictures with the Carters after Sunday School. My daughter beamed all the way home and for days thereafter. The lesson Jimmy taught in Sunday School that day was on the topic of “hope.” The lesson Rosalynn taught that day by her actions was “grace” — the kind that makes hope possible. The afterglow of that day still overtakes the shadowy remnants of a disgraced inauguration. It’s been 25 years, but the sweet and totally unexpected gift we received from the Carters still warms my heart and endears me to them forever…