Earlier this very day, I wrote my first blog post in a while, on the book, Accidental Saints, and how, as Christians, we dwell from a place of fresh mercy; God to us, us to our neighbor, our neighbor to us. It's ridiculously easier on paper. I was, dare I say, happy all day about attending our July 4th Celebration, on the 29th of June, (that's how Michigan roles-don't ask). I actually told Tim, the one I love, but barely respite with, "I am so excited to see the Fireworks with you!"
And I was, until I wasn't.
A series of unfortunate and accidental events occurred that can sometimes happen when you have a Special Needs kid. And as a result, an hour and a half before the fireworks started, Tim and daughter were a mile away, stuck in traffic, and unable to reunite.
I sat, purposely isolated, overwhelmingly numb to another disappointment in my life along this same, tiring thread. I was sinking, and mad, and exhausted, and starting to get hopeless. I just couldn't reel it in. I realize that this was an extreme response on the outside, but this separation was reinforcing all of the bitter things that pain and fear attract.
It was then, as I was still in my vortex of funk, that I felt a warm, and newly strong 10-year old hand wrap itself, literally, around my cold shoulder. Owen, without knowing any details, decided to remove himself from his group of friends where the cool, older kids sat, and he came, and found me, and sat right next to me behind the laughter and party of everyone else. He just held me quietly and confidently. He asked me if I saw this, and that, in the display. Picking up on my stillness, he asked me if I was okay.
I wasn't, but then I was.
By the end of the night, even though I knew My heart wasn't all sorted out and okay with the world yet, I actually noticed myself laughing and clapping in his presence. Owen's joy and love; you just can't resist them, hard as you try. This morning I realize that I was the lucky recipient of what theological technicians call an object lesson.
Christ left HIS metaphorical spot where the cool kids hang, to go sit with the broken, worn out, weary people, who sit on the sidelines and try to fix their broken hearts, only to discover that mercy is ridiculously easier in letters then it is in practice.
So, Jesus became mercy.
It is the mercy of God that is new every morning, that gives hope along our weary roads. Those worn down paths we all have. It is HIS love that enables us to forgive and receive forgiveness, as unnatural and unwarranted as it may feel. HE is the glue and joy of my communion and community. HE is living hope, and ridiculously powerful love, love so merciful that I can't resist it, even when, despite all of my instincts to fix and control things, all I can do is surrender.
