It's All About Grace

Even the most ordinary tasks can turn into extraordinary circumstances, and, for some, their participation is both inadvertent and unknown to them. This is not necessarily a bad thing.

When yours has become a household name, in the most unflattering ways, how you approach life changes. This comes as advice from friends of mine, parents who found themselves objects of gossip and guilt by association, when their teenage son was accused and found guilty of vandalizing a local high school.

And though I appreciated their care for me, and their tips, like not using your last name when waiting for a table at a restaurant, we were far apart on the situational spectrum. Great was the distance between a local crime resulting in community service and thousands of dollars in restitution to an international crime resulting in a long federal prison sentence and nearly three-quarters of a million of dollars in restitution.

Their son’s crime brought embarrassment to their name, and for a short while they were shunned in their affluent community. In time, all returned to life as they once knew it…it all just faded away.

My husband’s crime brought not just embarrassment to our name, but ruin to our family. We were not just shunned, we were shattered. And thanks to the internet, our story will never fade.

So, my friends really couldn’t stand in one place and speak into the other; even their kindest words were muted, hollow and ineffectual.

We were just a couple months out from Daniel’s crime, and the news coverage was still a living, breathing, growing thing. I couldn’t control it, I couldn’t shield my kids from it, I couldn’t hide from it myself, and we couldn’t stop being hurt from it. So, we did the only thing we could, we returned to life. Not as we once knew it, but how we were determined to rebuild it.

I had moved the kids and myself to a new city in Ohio. It was there, ironically the scene of the crime itself, that I thought we could begin to heal. Away from our house and property, all soon to be auctioned off to the highest bidder, into a three-bedroom townhouse that was to become our new home.

One Saturday afternoon, my daughter Kate accompanied me to the grocery store to stock our cupboards, while the boys stayed home and unpacked. Going out in public felt threatening to me, though it really should not have. Because, while I played a starring role in the unfolding drama, I was a virtual unknown to the masses, and mostly went unnoticed. That nearly changed when I wrote a check to pay for my groceries; a recognition pitfall not given prior consideration.

My check and driver’s license had not been in the cashier’s hands even a few seconds before she gasped and exclaimed “We have the same last name!” My daughter and I quickly exchanged a glance. Oh no, I thought, here it comes. “Spelled exactly the same way as mine,” she friendly shared. Another quick glance at my daughter, with a bit of a smile, and the grateful thought phew, we dodged a bullet there. But she hadn’t yet drawn her weapon, and all shots subsequently fired went straight through the heart.

“Of course,” she continued, “I AM NOT related to that awful man who stole all that money!” And from a non-profit, no less. How could anyone do something so terrible?” It seemed she couldn’t stop, she was outraged, and my daughter and I were her audience. “That money was for research and treatment, people are probably going to die because of him!”

Kate and I were dazed, passing disbelieving looks between each other, and towards this cashier. She was not only clueless, she also wasn’t done. “Oh, and his poor wife! How humiliated she must be. I wonder if she’ll divorce him. I could never stay married to a man like that!”

The cashier’s rant, occurring while the groceries were being bagged, and my check was being processed, ended with one last question. Asked of me while handing over my receipt and driver’s license, she looked me directly in the eyes and said, “Can you imagine?!”

Slack-jawed is how I surely looked, as my brain, reeling from shock wave, tried to pluck out just one of the hundreds of responses swirling around to give her.

What came out, along with a shrug of my shoulders and a tiny shake of my head, was, “No, I can’t imagine. It must be terrible for her.”

We turned, and with my daughter piloting the cart, we headed for the exit. Before we hit the double doors, I stopped suddenly, sensing an imperative I could not put words to. Returning the puzzled look on my face with one of her own, Kate asked, “What?” It was a good question.

“Should we go talk with her manager?” I asked in return. And from Kate, another good question, “Why?”

Why indeed. Again, with the swirling brain, searching for an answer. I wasn’t angry, I wasn’t offended or embarrassed. I had not been exposed. So, we debated the question.

My children and I walked nearly alone through much of the first years of Daniel’s separation from the family. So, considerably earlier than they might have otherwise, Kate and both her brothers became my sounding boards. Blunt, trustworthy and willing to challenge me.

At the root, it was a matter of outcome. What outcome was I seeking? Though I felt the entire exchange was fairly unacceptable, what would I address, the cashier’s rudeness, insensitivity, or ignorance?

I did find it rude and professionally offensive the cashier would engage in any outburst in front of a customer. There is no soapbox behind the register, and it was inappropriate for her to find one to step on to. But, if we’re honest, which one of us hasn’t done the same or similar?

As I was clearly the only wife of “that awful man,” and it seemed unlikely another woman with the same last name, spelled exactly the same, would pass through this cashier’s checkout line, odds were good that particular tirade may never happen again. If it did, the recipient may find the incident distasteful and the cashier insensitive, but it would not be sensitive to the customer. Only I had that distinction.

And it seemed counterproductive to speak to the manager about her ignorance. I didn’t want exposure, and there seemed no better way to be exposed than to bring awareness to an unknowing manager.

So, the outcome I wanted was realized when we continued through the double doors, breathed in the fresh air, exhaled a collected sigh, and then started laughing. Because it was funny, in its own tragic way.

It’s been nearly 24 years since that encounter. Big Bear Supermarkets have been shuttered for more than 18 of those years. I have thought about this incident from time to time, though I’ve never dwelled upon it. Until recently. So why the reflection on this encounter now?

It all comes down to grace. None that was extended by me, but that which was lavished upon me, and extended through me. Because the answer I gave the cashier was full of grace AND it was also true.

Even while walking through it, I still couldn’t imagine how we’d gotten there. I still couldn’t imagine how we’d get through it. I still couldn’t imagine what the future might look like. So, no…I couldn’t imagine.

Loss. Fear. Worry. Anxiety. Shame. Confusion. Isolation. Rejection. Abandonment. And so much more. I was battered and bruised, worn and weary. So, yes…it was terrible.

Having cried out to God for rescue, but not yet receiving Christ as my Savior, I was still spiritually dead. I had neither the capacity for grace, nor a true understanding of it. But God, knowing I would come alive in Christ, and in the fullness of His character, lovingly and faithfully provided the grace-filled words I was fully incapable of speaking myself.

I’m a fan of worship music and particularly fond of Laura Story’s Grace, in which she sings, “As I walk with You, I’m learning what your grace really means. The price that I could never pay, was paid at Calvary.”

Let’s be crystal clear about that. It was the mercy of Jesus that paid the price at Calvary, but it was His saving grace that took Him up that hill.

Just as Lamentations 3:22-23 tells us, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end, they are new every morning…” His grace never comes to an end either.

So, the lyrics I love most in Grace is “My child, I love you. And as long as you’re seeking my face, You’ll walk in the power of my daily sufficient grace.”

Jesus has been my Savior since September 5th of 2000; I do love looking back, all these years later, and seeing His grace. John 1:16 tells us, “For from His fullness we have all received grace upon grace” (emphasis mine.) I have both drawn in, and been drowned in, His powerful

sufficient grace every day since.

When I do reminisce though, my Lord is also faithful to remind me that, once redeemed, we are given The Spirit of Grace. And the Holy Spirit carries me along through 2 Corinthians 6:16 “…we appeal to you not to receive the grace of God in vain.” Which I do, if I’m a vessel only willing to receive grace, but unwilling to pour it out.

So, as I walk with Him, as I remember with Him, I’m shown all of His grace poured out to me, some of my grace poured out to others, and much of when I willfully and disobediently withheld grace. Through my memories of the past, Jesus has a gentle way of correcting my steps forward, and I love Him all the more for that…so, the outcome He wanted then, from an encounter in a grocery store 20 years in the past, is still being realized even now.

There but for the grace of God, go I.

As countless as the times are I’ve heard this from others, so too is the number of times I’ve spoken these words myself. And the realization saddens me that, almost without fail, when we speak these words, we’re actually looking down on and thinking less of the person we’re referring to.

Murderers, rapists, thieves, child molesters and wife beaters. Well, sure…there but for the grace of God, go I.

Adulterers, alcoholics, drug addicts, prostitutes, the homeless. Of course…there but for the grace of God, go I.

But just where is there? Where do we set the bar in recognizing where the grace of God is needed?

How about the rich man who will have a hard time entering the kingdom of heaven? Or the haughty, so full of arrogance and pride? Consider the liar, the constant complainer, the perpetual pity partier or the hyper-critical friend or family member.

How do we regard the angry, the bitter, the resentful? What about the fearful, the anxious, the rude, the gossipers, the impatient, the harsh, the unforgiving and yes, the clueless cashiers?

Have you seen yourself in that list somewhere? Because I have seen myself…sadly, several times over.

Christians, have we not yet learned that the THERE is still…and will always be…me and you and it is the BUT that continues to give all of us the grace to go?!

“But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect. No, I worked harder than all of them—yet not I, but the grace of God that was with me.” 1 Corinthians 15:10 (emphasis mine).

Because of the promise found in 2 Corinthians 9:8, “And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work.” I do work hard “not to receive the grace of God in vain.” What is the hard work I do?

It is in my prayers; For my heart to be strengthened by grace (Hebrews 3:9), to not think of myself more highly than I ought (Romans 12:3), to have my speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt (Colossians 4:6), and to let only talk such as is good for building up come out of my mouth (Ephesians 4:29), so that as grace extends to more and more people it may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God (2 Corinthians 4:15).

I will at times fail all these things, and when I do, my only thought will be…There but for the grace of God, go I.