One of those days, where I am left dizzy by the grace that rushes past us, surrounds us.
The sermon is gentle rebuke, and the kids respond to it viscerally, these 7th graders who have always had their spiritual nerves so raw and close to the surface. They didn't have to hear it to know, to feel that something is going on.
They are noisy and wild and close, filled beyond the capacity of growing minds and souls, letting off steam in bursts of sound and movement. And yet, I am reminded all the more clearly of Grace.
Grace that covers. Grace that soothes hurts that haven't been spoken and pulls us ever tighter under its wing.
Grace for the tears that they shake off before small group. For the holding on to that keeps them grounded, the lifting to their feet or out of the octagon. Grace for mixed up small groups and conversations that cover more ground than ought to be possible.
Grace that is enough when I am not.
Not enough hands to hold on to them all. Not enough ears to listen. Not enough moments to dig into truth. And, not the right gender to follow my boys to small group and hear the things that are bubbling up behind their eyes.
Because, they are heavy with it today. Their own mess spilling out of cups that are too full with what is happening in the sanctuary.
But, there is grace.
Grace for the exhale that follows each deep breath in.
Grace in kids who gather at night and use Haiti as the lens through which they interpret their world.
Grace.
Because, it has been long years since the high school group has felt this safe. Long years since we have had one of these seasons, where they let their guard down and, together, we speak the words that build trust.
It's not perfect. Not without its flaws and its missteps. But, it is new and growing and vulnerably strong.
It is an exhale.
Safety. Trust. Memory. Grace.
Crazy grace that highlights our weaknesses as well as our strengths.
Crazy grace that would sacrifice everything to set us free.
And, it is ours.
Grace that covers. Grace that soothes hurts that haven't been spoken and pulls us ever tighter under its wing.
Grace for the tears that they shake off before small group. For the holding on to that keeps them grounded, the lifting to their feet or out of the octagon. Grace for mixed up small groups and conversations that cover more ground than ought to be possible.
Grace that is enough when I am not.
Not enough hands to hold on to them all. Not enough ears to listen. Not enough moments to dig into truth. And, not the right gender to follow my boys to small group and hear the things that are bubbling up behind their eyes.
Because, they are heavy with it today. Their own mess spilling out of cups that are too full with what is happening in the sanctuary.
But, there is grace.
Grace for the exhale that follows each deep breath in.
Grace in kids who gather at night and use Haiti as the lens through which they interpret their world.
Grace.
Because, it has been long years since the high school group has felt this safe. Long years since we have had one of these seasons, where they let their guard down and, together, we speak the words that build trust.
It's not perfect. Not without its flaws and its missteps. But, it is new and growing and vulnerably strong.
It is an exhale.
Safety. Trust. Memory. Grace.
Crazy grace that highlights our weaknesses as well as our strengths.
Crazy grace that would sacrifice everything to set us free.
And, it is ours.
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