Finally

This is the Christmas when I finally 'got it.'

For the past several weeks my K has been asking me a lot of questions about my parents' choices regarding church. My parents have not been involved in a church community in 30+ years, but it is a decision that we don't really discuss. We love each other without a lot of discussion of religion/world view. I have felt very protective of their decisions when it comes to explaining it all to my children. As K has peppered me with: "Why haven't we been to their church before? Do they go to church? Why not?" I have struggled with how to answer--but was also hesitant to have my parents put on the spot about something so potentially sensitive by their 6 year old granddaughter. (**Lest anyone get nervous as you read this, I did call my Mom for permission to write about this and she granted it**)

My K is relentless when she is trying to understand something and continued to bring it up about once a week until I finally gave her the only reason my Mom ever gave me as a child. It was a story about a negative experience she had in church when she was an adolescent. Apparently, as she and her 5 siblings and parents were sitting in the balcony of their stately downtown baptist church one morning, an obviously underprivileged family came in and sat nearby. Mom recalls watching in horror as the ushers asked the family to leave. All these (50+ years) later, that experience has stuck with her. Explaining this story satisfied K's curiosity and she hasn't brought it up again.

Fast forward to last night. We went to the 4:30 Candlelight Service at my church accompanied by a few guests--five adolescents in state custody that truly had no where else to be Christmas Eve (and the three houseparents who were working that night at the group home.) Many of the kids at the group home are granted home visits to be with family for Christmas, even if they cannot live there permanently. The ones left behind on Christmas are from situations so complicated and/or sad that even a special Christmas home visit is not possible. We were also accompanied by our cousin Scott, adopted at birth by my husband's aunt and orphaned (due to the untimely death of his adopted parents) by the time he was in 8th grade.

Because it was crowded and we had such a large group (14) we took up the back three rows on the right side of the sanctuary. As the service started and people continued to arrive, everyone shifted in to make room at the end of their rows for stragglers. As a tall, dark skinned man who appeared to be down on his luck slipped in next to me I greeted him with a smile. The reading was finished and we opened our hymnals to sing. Out of this towering man came one of the more beautiful, rich singing voices I have ever heard from a man. K, who was snuggled up close to me, snapped her head to the left and up to investigate the source of such glorious singing. As she stared (in wonder not disdain), I whispered, "That is some voice you have there. Beautiful." He grinned and let out a short, deep chuckle. I seriously considered whether or not he might be an angel.

Just a few moments later, I heard a bit of rustling and shifting behind me. I smelled the undeniable scent of thick cigarette smoke and turned to see a grinning K and two guests. She has been clean and sober for over 2 years now, holding down a job, making straight As in her college classes and raising her youngest daughter on her own. Looking at her exterior, you wouldn't have any idea about the incredible testimony she has. She loves and serves a second chance God.

So do I. I glanced around the room and was reminded that regardless of the impressiveness or repulsiveness of the outer packages, the images portrayed by the people in that room, we all have stories.

I teared up as I thought about the redemptive nature of God. The circumstances of my life (on the exterior) are very different from most of the people who were sitting in those three rows--and yet, God has given me a true LOVE for them. It is honestly not a check the box, earn points with God, impress my neighbors, feel sorry for them and better about myself kind of love. It is a draw like a magnet set deep in my heart that even I shake my head about. Seriously, God, I am a conservative suburban housewife...don't you think there is someone better equipped to reach these folks? His response to me is always a gentle reminder. Just love them with My Love.

I decided last night I was going to choose to be a back row girl a lot more often. I was comfortable there. I felt like I could have been given a choice in that moment of anywhere in the church to sit and that would have been the place I picked.

Lest I be misunderstood, I want to emphasize, this is not about me nor is it from me. I am not capable of this kind of love. Someone recently commented that I came off as a bit of a snob on the blog sometimes. You know what? Sometimes I am. I don't want to be. But can I be? Yes! And a gossip, a glutton, a self-centered, impatient idolater...I could go on. I am a sinner.

So were the men 50 years ago who offended my mother and insulted God's reputation by making down-and-out folks feel unwelcome in church. Their exterior was but a glimpse of the condition of the poverty within the hearts of everyone in that congregation and in mine last night.

We all need do-overs.

The beauty of Christmas is that we got one. Jesus was the ultimate control+alt+delete for the road humankind was on. He came to reset things. He came to give us a do-over.

I have wept each time I recounted this story: to my husband, my good friend and this afternoon to my Mom. Christmas is about the LOVE of a Father who gave us eternal PEACE through the great gift of His Son which leaves us with the HOPE and JOY of a fresh start. Praise God for redemption.

Thank you, Lord. I finally get it.

Merry Christmas!