These words. These words:
"Grace is when you finally stop keeping score and when you realize that God never was, that his game is a different one entirely... I used to think that the ability to turn back time would be the greatest possible gift, so that I could undo all the things I wish I hadn't done. But grace is an even better gift, because it allows me to do more than just erase; it allows me to become more than I was when I did those things. It's forgiveness without forgetting, which is much sweeter than amnesia." (Bittersweet)
Grace is so hard to understand. It's intangible in a world that is experiential and hands-on. We may forgive, true, but to fully erase seems impossible. The mess still lingers when we look at each other. Understanding God's grace, which doesn't keep score and does not define us by our mess, is often unfathomable to me.
Last week was a heavy one. And yet life hasn't stopped. If anything, it's picking up speed like an out-of-control steam engine. But just for now, I'm pausing, pausing to get a few things down before moving on, collected thoughts that may come out all jumbled, but hopefully there's grace for that too. Life collided for me last week in ways totally unexpected; it forced me to simply stand still for a time and wrestle a bit. (Me? Stand still?!) But it was a good wrestling.
Monday morning loomed, anxiously; I had some tough conversations lined up with people I deeply trust and desperately seek wise counsel from. I entered in, uncertain; I left with overwhelming relief – truth and "we're with yous" instilled in my heart, burdens shared. One of those conversations centered around grace, around this idea that God views us so much differently than we view ourselves. The idea that the marred identities we create for ourselves, borne out of way-too-often shortcomings, are not even visible to God. With the exchange of words that morning and a willingness to be vulnerable and to listen, God extended words of wisdom and grace through my friends. The best kind of wrestling.
Not two hours later, our team first received word of the bombings in Boston as we walked into our weekly staff meeting. It was a surreal feeling, having just spoken to one of our marathon committee members who finished her fourth, and fastest, Boston run that morning. We sat glued to the news, and spent most of the afternoon watching the footage online as it came in. Tragedy like this always seems distant – until it doesn't. Until it hits close to home. And as we watched video replays and listened to reporters and folks on the scene at the finish area, talked about those that were stopped at mile 25 unable to finish, thought about those waiting in the stands for their loved ones, imagined being among those who had trained for years to gain entry into this race of a lifetime... it struck deep. We wrestled with the reality of the world we live in.
The rest of the week passed in a flurry – continued conversation, tough decisions, letting go, late nights, initiating a movement of hope and peace that rallied thousands and thousands of people around the world with Run for Boston, and many other ironically normal day-to-day happenings as if all were right with the world. One evening I was watching the massive manhunt going down in Boston; the following night found me debating which card to play in a trivial game of Spades. I'm not an emotional person in general, but there was something about the juxtaposition of normal and extreme that really rocked me.
By the end of the weekend, I was done. Done thinking and running around and trying to find answers and figure things out. But this idea of grace came back around on Sunday as I soaked up a time of worship. Another collision, this time one full of affirmation and goodness. I'm learning much about community as of late – the need we all have to connect, to be known, to share life with each other. And Sunday I was reminded once again that there is life and sustenance to be found when we are willing to dig deep with one another, to walk closely through the good and the hard and the hurt and the celebration that life throws our way. I experienced that in waves last week, and I am grateful.
Reading comments and thoughts from Boston has been a challenge. "They [the bombers] don't deserve anyone's time of day..." and on and on and on. I will keep wrestling with that for awhile.
I can't help but wonder if the outcome in Boston would have been much different had a few men been given the time of day and shown a little grace earlier on in their lives. I wonder what would happen if they were shown grace now in a public way. And I wonder how I might better show grace to those around me.
It's time we stop keeping score. The choice to be more than our mess is so much sweeter.
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