Category: Stories

We have a new phrase for 2020. “Social distancing”. And a word that is on everyone’s lips. “Pandemic”. Used to be, pandemic was a word reserved for online games and the Plague, or Black Death, from the Middle Ages. It conjures up visions of world-wide human decimation, with scant few remaining to re-populate the earth. We’ve seen the movies.

We know now that, at least for this pandemic, even though earth’s population won’t be reduced to a meager few, in order to ‘’flatten the curve” (another new phrase), and to slow down the progression, we’ve been encouraged to self-quarantine. To protect not just ourselves individually, but others who are at greater risk.

It’s called being selfless instead of selfish.

Life gets interrupted, doesn’t it? A year and a half ago Hurricane Michael came aborning, disrupting and destroying lives, livelihoods, and property.

Now it’s a pandemic. Feeling stretched a little? Weary and afraid?

Last year, about this time, I was putting the finishing writing touches on my first book Through Cracked Glass – Grace for God’s fractured and imperfect children. I felt a chapter on conflict resolution and forgiveness would be a good topic to cover. So, I started googling and was rewarded with an article on, what turned out to be, an excellent book – Kevin Sande’s The Peacemaker. What really grabbed my attention and bored its way deep into my heart was a phrase contained in the first sentence of his 2012 revised version’s Preface. “Peacemakers are people who breathe grace.”

Breathe grace. Those two words have become my life goal. Grace – unmerited favor. The opposite of karma.

I had a long conversation with an upset customer today. His nerves were frazzled, and he was in panic mode, so it took me a while to validate his concerns, and talk him off the ledge, so to speak.   My patience finally paid off, and he hung up a much calmer customer than at the beginning of the conversation.

How can we breathe grace to others?

I breathe grace when I allow you to cut in front of me in line and I don’t get angry, but realize you have your own frustrations and responsibilities that weigh heavily on your shoulders.

I breathe grace when I don’t hold a grudge when you’ve let me down again or handed me a hot-potato at work that you should have dealt with.

I breathe grace when I text you to see how you’re doing, asking if I can help you with anything.

I breathe grace when I don’t blame you for the mix-up on my order, and work patiently with you to correct it.

I breathe grace when I speak words of encouragement instead of anger. Words to build you up instead of tear you down.

I breathe grace when I sew face masks to protect our health-care workers, when I drop off food on someone’s doorstep, when I donate to organizations supporting those with less than I have.

Grace was what God gave us when He sent Jesus. Unmerited favor. And Jesus breathed grace everywhere He went. Do you think everyone He healed was deserving? Do you think they had to fill out questionnaires and wait to see if they qualified for help? Did He discriminate? No, I don’t think He did.

To Jesus, everyone matters. So, they should to us as well.

This pandemic and social distancing and loss of income for many is wearing, isn’t it? Stress makes us begin to turn our eyes inward, where all we see is our own discomfort, and we can get grumpy and snarky. And our selfishness begins to show when our fear causes us to hoard supplies, effectively meaning someone else will go without.

This forced time of rest can be used to such wonderful advantage. There are all kinds of positive ideas floating around on the internet. Avail yourself of them.

Rest. Grow spiritually. Reconnect with those who mean the most to you as best you can.

As Jesus said, “by this will all men know you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

Breathe grace whenever you get the opportunity.

I was pretty confident the weather would be comfortable when I picked Labor Day Weekend to fly up to Michigan to spend quality time with Dad. At eighty-two years young, he’s doing well. He still drives his John Deere, uses his weed whacker, prunes the trees, and paints the porch. The medication his neurologist has him taking for his Parkinson’s is effective against the tremors in his hands. He’s still able to do a lot of things. His shoulders are stooped, and his steps are slow, but the smile is the same and so is my love. I cherish each minute I still have with him.

“Hello, sweet thing,” he says with a smile as I hoist my bags into the Tahoe. “How was your flight?”

He’s been watching old western re-runs lately, so I knew I’d be taking in some interesting movies. Obvious plot lines and mediocre acting, coupled with old-fashioned hairdos, made the women look decades older than their years. Definitely entertaining, though. The scenery was spectacular, although quite dusty. There was a lot of shootin’, and ridin’, and dyin’ going on. And tons of American tenacity and ingenuity.

Our thing is trying out new restaurants when I travel up to see him. It’s always an adventure. I love that Dad is willing to embrace new experiences at his advanced age. In one restaurant, he couldn’t appreciate the loud music, so he turned down his hearing aid, and that took care of that little annoyance. I told him he should write up a food review and send it to the local newspaper’s editor from each restaurant we discover. He got a good laugh out of that one.

Dad recently got himself his own Jitterbug smartphone and it makes me smile watching him google a you-tube video or send a text. He keeps it in his shirt pocket.

The house Dad built, a raised ranch with a walk-out basement, straddles two one acre lots. One side of the long driveway is flanked with mature maple trees that glow like orange and yellow banners in the fall. I still remember when he planted the young saplings over twenty years ago. Now, their mature canopies cast welcome shade. The back half of the property is now home to a small copse of more maples he had decided about seven years ago to let grow as they sprouted up, struggling to be seen above the unmowed grass. He made up his mind one day to keep the entire two acres manicured, after letting the back portion go native for years. When he discovered the little saplings, he carefully mowed around them. When they had grown to about my height, I took the pruning shears to them shaving off the little suckers growing from the trunks and lopping the low hanging branches.

He now has his own personal park needing only a picnic table and swing-set to complete the pastoral scene.

We walked the perimeter while I was there, and I took pictures of the hickory trees, chicory, sweet peas, goldenrod, day lilies, and queen ann’s lace. It’s all a matter of perspective. I choose and frame one subject, getting in close so all you see is what I want you to see. The big picture is nice, but nothing spectacular. I think you only see the extraordinary beauty when you get up close and focus on one living plant.

God beautifully made each flower and weed and leaf, breathing intricate details only visible when you come near.

I get distracted by large crowds. The cacophonous noise fractures my thinking. But when I single out one person to know, as my camera lens zeroes in on the delicately unfurled petals of blue chicory, I see beauty and am enthralled by its complexity.

Each human being is a work of art. We need to take the time to focus.