I didn't know Grace

The saga of The Great Concussion of 2012 is coming to a close.

There's something about spending a few days unable to read, drive, look at screens, go to class or work, and be around noise and lights without a splitting headache. It was quiet, just the white walls and my breath and a bottle of pain killers.

But there's being alone and there's being lonely.

The other night I ventured back into the social world and sat on the pool deck with a pile or roommates and a gentleman who has a love of Jewish tradition and a laugh that makes everybody smile. A party whirled on around us, a bunch of college kids on a Friday night just trying to pass the time with free food.

He asked if we all knew each other before we lived together.
"I didn't know Grace, but Grace knew me," I said.

I then asked him to to say "grace" in Hebrew. He made a noise that sounded like he was about to choke on his own tongue and smiled. It was a disgusting noise.

I love Hebrew.
And I love when Truth lives where I didn't think Truth could be planted.

I didn't know Grace.
But Grace knew me.

It's never reversed. It's never the other way around.Grace knew me from before the day I was born and said, "You are mine." Grace knew me when I fell off my bike, skinning my knees and cursing the asphalt with red-hot cheeks. She knew me through slammed doors, snide remarks, dirty looks, and a pride that just wouldn't quit.

She still said, "You are mine."

But I didn't know her.
I didn't know she was watching.
I didn't know I had to find her.

<><><>

I sit on the couch with a sweet friend.

"Hey! Guess what I learned today?" She stares at me, waiting for either something silly or mind-blowing to escape my lips. I make a noise that sounds like I need to spit. "It means 'grace' in Hebrew!" I smile, beaming with excitement. She laughs and stares at me, unsure if my concussion is worse than we had suspected.

Maybe the power of Grace is too much to muster. Maybe it can only be whispered; whispered in a tone so low you hardly know that it's there, but you can feel its breath. It can't be put into a word because it transcends everything we know to be true, everything that we know to be normal.

Grace isn't natural.
But Grace is real.

Cheap grace is easy to find. It's the grace that tells me I am smart, kind, important. It's the grace that promises to not keep us awake at night, to never make ourselves feel less than we desire to be, to never disturb us our rouse us or challenge us.

But real Grace? That's who I find the footprints of. That's who shifts around the chairs in the kitchen just enough that I know somebody has been there. If I ever saw her, I'd be overtaken by beauty and awe and unworthiness. She is everywhere, and yet I still must chase after her, striving to touch just the hem of her dress so that I may share her goodness with others.

It's Grace that points out my flaws when I am waiting for praise that is not mine to take. Grace reminds me of all that I am; no more, no less. Grace is who stands in front of you as insults are thrown like baseballs at your stomach. It's the gift you get on Christmas morn even though you've been an awful child. Grace will keep you up at night. Grace will leave you on your knees. She will make you hurt and she will make you smile. Grace empties only to fill. She is always worth searching for, fighting for, running towards.

With Grace, Truth always grows.
With Grace, all is a gift.

Sundays are for silence

The sun slowly sets, kissing the horizon. The neighbors scurry home, collecting their children and the wash hanging on the line to dry. The air becomes still with anticipation and quietness.

It's a tradition three thousand years in the making.

The family gathers around the table on a Friday night, clustered around a candle. The mother begins to pray, for it is the woman that ushers in the rest of the Sabbath and the peace of the Lord. A candle is lit to mark the start of something beautiful.

The prayer ends, but no amen is heard. It is a prayer that will not end until the following evening; from dusk to dusk is a communion with the Lord. The entire time in between is set aside for a continual prayer, an anticipation, an expectancy.

Lord, let it be.

<><><>

My theme for the year is identity. 

Finding myself.

Finding Christ.

Finding myself within Christ.

My discipline for the year is silence. 

It is here that you hear your own thoughts.

That you hear the words of the Lord.

That you commune with the One who made you.

Last year I was redeemed. I discovered what I am not; now I am searching for what I am. 

Last year I practiced journaling. I learned how to talk to God; now I am practicing how to listen.

So if it's Sunday and you need me, come knocking.

My phone will be off. Facebook will be signed out. 

Make plans ahead of time; emergencies will have to wait.

Sundays are for reading The Little Princess on the porch hammock, exploring museums in LA, lying by the pool with an Arnold Palmer, hiking to the top of the A, napping in the ampitheatre, praying and meditating,

just.

being.

quiet.

The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.

Exodus 14:14

Through the peephole

Their music was loud.
Their bass was bumping.
The walls shook early in the morning and late at night.
Girls poured out of their door at the 1am gender curfew.

We watched through the peephole of our own door.
Standing from a distance, protected by a slab of wood, we caught a glimpse into their world; their strange, loud, state university-esque world.
We saw red Solo cups.
We saw multicolored strobe lights.
We saw darkness and bodies and nothing holy.

We, the girls next door, are holy.
We are upright, intentional, Bible believing/thumping/obeying women of the Lord.

<><><>

Roommates nestled together on the pavement with our feet in the hot tub we continued to watch from a distance. We wondered and daydreamed and waited for them to make themselves known.

And they did.
They were transfers from state schools. They had no intentions of being in discipleship house, a community committed to the love and ways of Christ. They were simply put into the apartment next to ours because there were empty beds that needed to be filled.

Confirmed.
They didn't belong. They weren't one of us. Of course they would behave in such ways of the world.

<><><>

The five of us, the women of the Word, sat in our living room snickering about the party animals on the other side of the wall. Then he knocked.

Hello, I'm your neighbor.
We are having a party tonight.
Would you like to come?
We're just going to have some people over for some worship.
We'd love to see you there.

The door closed and before he was out of earshot we erupted in laughter.
"Worship night". So that's what they called it.

We returned to our position in the peepholes, gathering images of darkness and bodies and strobe lights and girls arriving in herds. The music played and the photos on the walls rattled.
We had to witness it ourselves.
We had to judge righteously.
We had to show them what it meant to follow Christ.
We would be a witness at the party; a light among the darkness.

And so we crossed the porch that connected our units.

The image was distorted through the peephole.

A large crowd greeted us, shaking our hands.
I haven't met you yet.
What's your name?
Which room are you in?
How do you like it here?
Sorry it's dark - we've been using Christmas lights instead of an overhead.
Would you like some water? We have some red cups over there.

Then the music began.
A gentle strumming, praising the name of our Lord.

Then the prayer began.
Hopeful hearts and faithful tongues and inter-digitated hands.

Then the evening ended with a blessing.
A desire to live righteously.
A desire to love as Christ loved.
A desire to follow in the ways of our Lord.

And we, the women of God, crawled back to our apartment with our tails between our legs and stared at each other again.

What just happened?

And then the Lord erupted in laughter.
They had shown us what it meant to be Christ.
Next to snobby neighbors.
Next to girls who would not show their faces.
Next to laughter and sneers that could be heard through walls.

Remind the people to be subject to rulers and authorities, to be obedient, to be ready to do whatever is good, to slander no one, to be peaceable and considerate, and always to be gentle toward everyone. At one time we were foolish, disobedient, deceived and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures. We lived in malice and envy, being hated and hating one another. But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit.

Titus 3:1-5