First-Hand Redemption

The emotion caught me by surprise. So much so, I closed my eyes and shook my head like I’d swallowed a particularly hot cup of coffee. I’d been in church before, but this was different. I’d attended funerals, but never one like this. What made it different were the people. At first, I couldn’t figure it out, but then it became clear: Everyone gathered was redeemed . . .  and they knew it. Just recalling it a day later gives me chills.

The man whose life we were celebrating was a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. He’d been a member for forty years and his impact in the recovery community was as large as the congregation. Whether in suits or dresses, blue jeans or shorts, adorned with tattoos or glittering jewelry, what they had in common were lives filled with struggles and countless mistakes. Remembering the various gutters from which they had been lifted, their gratitude made the ground so holy I almost removed my shoes. I’m embarrassed to admit the experience was new - not the gratitude, but its source.

You see, I grew up in churches with grateful people. They were grateful for the blessing of their lives – comfortable homes, financial security (if not abundance), and Christmas card worthy families. The folks at the funeral had none, or not many, of those things. Instead, they had a personal sense of God’s love and forgiveness. You could see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices. They were grateful for a different abundance, the abundance of God’s love and forgiveness. I know everyone is redeemed. I was just moved to be surrounded by people who knew it first-hand.

A Gift

 There once was a child who was given a gift. It was wrapped in colorful paper and his heart leapt when he came downstairs as saw it. He placed it on a nearby shelf and sat looking at the present. He imagined what it was and gave thanks for being given a gift in the first place.

“Well,” said his mother, “aren’t you going to open it?”

“I’m scared,” he said. “What if it’s a soccer ball and I don’t know how to kick well enough? What if it’s a football and I can’t throw it high enough? What if it’s a book and I’m not smart enough to understand what it says?”

With a smile, his mother replied, “You’ll never know unless you open it. Gifts are meant to be opened. Gifts are meant to be used. Even if you struggle at first, you’ll learn whatever you need to in the end. Eventually, it will become such a part of your life you’ll forget it was even a gift.”

The boy listened to his mother but waited until she left the room. Then he reached up and took the package from the shelf. It felt more real in his hands. Slowly untying the ribbon and removing the paper, he paused before lifting the lid. Taking a deep breath, he reached down and took hold of the lid with both hands. In the box he saw his gift.

It was freedom.

Father's Day 2021

I once had an amazing art teacher. Yes, she was an accomplished artist in her own right, but what made her amazing was how she responded to our artistic efforts. No matter what we created, she was able to see something in our art that was to be celebrated. If the perspective was off, she’d point to the wonderful use of color. If our values were screwy, she’d see something special in our composition. I didn’t know what the word “grace” meant at the time, but she helped me know how it felt.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my art teacher recently. Her innate way of finding something good is particularly helpful on Father’s Day (or Mother’s, or any other Hallmark Card invention). Today, we could look at the fathers we had, or the fathers we’ve been, and see only the mistakes and shortcoming, but, instead, we could be like my art teacher and look beyond to the things that are unique and worthy of celebration. Among the imperfections are special moments or characteristics that are to be remembered and treasured.

If we can focus on them, today becomes a day of grace, and that’s worthy of a holiday.