That one time I jumped off a boat

I’m not a huge risk taker. Partially because I don’t want to die from something like hitting my head when I jump from a waterfall; but also because I just don’t care that much about jumping off of waterfalls. Which is probably why I don’t want to die that way—don’t we all want to go out with a bang, doing something we love? So if I die while talking or reading a memoir, I’m okay with that.

I feel this pressure though, to seize the moment, and participate in these “once in a lifetime” opportunities. I live in Mexico City. I’m surrounded by so much history, art, nature, and culture that I should be soaking in everyday. However, I’ve been to three places so far in these first 9 months, two of which ended with one of our kids yakking in the backseat of the car. Not cool. For this reason, and my low level of excitement for things like “ruins”, otherwise known as a pile of rocks, we’ve stayed pretty close to home.

Also, this one time I complied and did the Once-in-a-lifetime activity, which was jumping off the side of a boat in some crystal clear ocean in Brazil, where I could literally see 2-foot starfish just hanging out at the bottom, most likely waiting to attack me. I agreed to it for three reasons: It was our anniversary and Alan really wanted to make a memory or something; I thought I’d finally have some story to share when everyone else talked about swimming with sharks and climbing volcanoes. It seemed of the same caliber; and it was a Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Little did I know, I would get two stories out of the experience. Yay...

First, I had to put my bathing suit on in the tiniest boat bathroom I’ve been in. In related news, it is the only boat bathroom I’ve been in. Back then, I wore a two piece. I have no idea why—I always felt super uncomfortable in it, but I was 20-something so I guess I thought I was supposed to. Mistake number one. Then, Alan and I announced to some people on our team (we were on a Mission Trip) what we were about to do, so they got the cameras ready and stood by to watch this romantic Anniversary Plunge. Mistake number two. We held hands, counted down, and JUMPED! Mistake number three.

 I realize the water looks dark in this picture.
It's only dark compared to our pasty white bodies.

I should’ve stuck with my first 7 answers of “No thank you. I really don’t want to jump.” But I got sucked in by this once-in-a-lifetime stuff and did it anyway. God gives women, specifically, a sixth sense. We can feel when things are a little off. I ignored this warning. Mistake number four. As we went down under the water, so did my bathing suit bottoms. Like, to my knees. I’m not sure if you’re following me or not--the water was *crystal clear*. Oh, and people were watching. Remember that? I whip around, yank my bottoms up and sheepishly announce what just happened. I figured it’s better for me to acknowledge what had happened rather than pretend the starfish didn't just see my bid'ness—it makes it less embarrassing, right?

As I was facing the boat, announcing this embarrassing, but not-too-embarrassing moment, I looked down to make sure my bottoms were secure. In that moment, I learned that not only did my bottoms fall down, but so. did. my. top. My top was not doing it’s job. It has one job and it was not doing it. The entire time, which was probably 6 seconds but felt like 6 minutes, that I was explaining about the mishap with my bottoms, I was flashing my fellow teammates in *crystal clear water*. Everything is a blur after this. I remember seeing my teammates walk away, not saying anything. I'm pretty sure a laugh would’ve been better than a silent walk off.

This pretty much solidified that I don’t care about once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. The following year, when we went to Costa Rica, I refused to cave in when everyone told me that zip-lining through a rainforest was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I could only imagine which article of clothing would rearrange itself, exposing something I’d rather not, hundreds of feet in the air. No.Thank.You. Instead, I painted my nails in a giant tree-house. That was a once in a lifetime experience--I had never done it before and I’ve never done it since.

I’m not really a risk-taker. Not because I am afraid. Okay, not entirely because I am afraid, but mainly because I value privacy for the things my mama gave me.

-M

Crap! That Sounds A Lot like Jesus

Tomorrow night we are throwing a Flash Mob Block Party in a section of the city where prostitution riddles the streets. The goal is to temporarily disrupt the industry in a peaceful, loving manner. We'll invite the prostitutes to come eat with us, receive a manicure, make jewelry, hang out, talk if they want to, and experience Love. I've been on the planning end of this event, buying supplies, making lists, and of course, asking questions. Lots of questions. It all sounded so awesome, so brave, until I realized that I am going to this event. So I asked, "Won't the pimps be mad that we are distracting their girls and they are losing money?" It seems like a bad idea to be on the wrong side of a pimp. The answer: "Yeah, they might be. But if they come over to us, we will invite them to eat with us."

My first thought was not to invite them in--aren't they the enemy? Aren't they the ones we are fighting against? But as my friend spoke those words, my second thought came crashing in: "Crap, that sounds a lot like Jesus." Everyone was invited to to the table to eat with Jesus. He saw their brokenness, he acknowledged their sin, he loved them, he beckoned them.

I can know every argument about why God exists or every verse about loving people (I don't know either of those things, btw), but if I'm not willing to invite everyone to the table, have I really encountered the never-ending love of Jesus? People are changed by grace, not by arguments and knowledge. I am changed by grace.

People are never the enemy. Never. When I engage with people as if they are the problem, I am ignoring the Gospel. And when I ignore the Gospel, I am void of love. And if love is what changes people, how can restoration be brought to this broken world?

I am nervous about tomorrow night; I am even a little afraid. If you're the praying type, please pray. I am so thankful for the group of people I work with here--they are all SUPES excited, not appearing to be nervous at all. Whew, glad there are some brave ones here! Actually, being brave doesn't mean I am not afraid, it means I do it, I go, even when I feel afraid. Because deep down, I know Whose I am. I know I am deeply loved by the Creator of Love.

I'm Learning

One of these days I will write stories about funny cats or what Alan was wearing the first time we met. But for now it seems like my brain is always filled with things that require processing, and the way for me to process is through writing.

I just finished a book that talked about the healing power of friendships and it made me realize how thankful I am for the friends I have--the new and old ones. We never know what impact we may have on someone else's life for we don't know their whole story nor do we always know what their heart needs in that moment. I have had plenty of negative experiences with people, who most likely had no idea how much their words, lack of words, or actions would effect me. And likely, I've done the same to others, without intending to. And so, I'm reminded of two things: grace and more grace.

But I've also had countless positive interactions with friends that have taught me so much and have helped me on my own journey of healing. When I talk about my journey of healing, I'm talking about dealing with pains and wounds of the past--emotionally and spiritually--by being vulnerable and admitting that I'm a mess, among other things like prayer and forgiveness. This is new for me, this being vulnerable. It's a scary place to admit that I am not perfect, I need you, and I'm a little weird. I've learned two things:
1. I can't be vulnerable with everyone. There are certain people that can handle trips to Crazytown with me and still love me; and then there are those that, for many reasons, cannot. And that's okay.
2. Being anyone other than me is futile.
I'm still learning how to balance being Real Mandy and guarding my heart. I don't do it well all the time. I'm a work in progress.

As I think about all my friends, many of whom I miss so much it actually hurts sometimes, I realize that all the healing that has happened and all the things I've learned from them have not come from lectures, "standing up for issues", or dollops of truth without love. Never have these lessons been explicitly preached at me; instead, they are shared with me just through living authentically.

I'm learning that life isn't black and white and I don't have to be afraid of the grey.
I'm learning that everyone has a story. Always choose grace.
I'm learning that holding someone's baby for them might just be the thing that saves their sanity.
I'm learning that being with someone, sharing in their pain, is more important than giving advice.
I'm learning that people can never receive too many kind words.
I'm learning that doing what I love is better than doing what I feel obligated to do.
I'm learning that it's about perspective--there's always another way to see things.
I'm learning that friendship is about receiving and giving. (This is hard for last borns to grasp :)
I'm learning that I can either be a "burden" for a season or I can be a burden for my whole life.
I'm learning that sometimes, I need to shut-up. Okay, a lot of times I need to shut-up.
I'm learning that I am good-enough, all of me--the good, the bad, the ugly.

I can think of specific people who have lived out each one of these things, so much so, that it has changed who I am. And for that, I'm so grateful. There were many years where I didn't have any deep friendships, just casual ones. I prayed for a long time for someone, just one person, who could be my friend. Sometimes prayers are answered in the way that we prayed them and sometimes we are shown a different way. The answer to my prayer came as a realization: the depth of my relationships depends on me; how willing I am to be real. Friends weren't going to magically appear--it required me to do something.

I wasn't being authentic because I truly thought that people needed me to keep it together, to not be a burden. I didn't want to be a Debbie Downer and talk about my seemingly first-world problems. But after awhile, in a moment of desperation and bravery, I made an appointment to talk to someone who maybe could help me. (By the way, it's super awkward to explain to the receptionist at the therapist's office all of your problems, especially if one of them is "difficulty being open with others.") And at the same time, I began meeting with a group of friends who I could be real with. We shared our stories, asked for help, prayed for each other, cried and laughed with each other. It was exactly what my heart needed.

One of my goals for 2013 was "to be a more thoughtful friend." It's a little sad that it's not something that comes naturally, but I'm so glad I've had friends who hung around long enough to show me what being a friend means. We aren't meant to live alone and we aren't meant to carry our hurts around with us our whole lives. Part of our healing process and dealing with pain needs to be done with others. It's scary and awkward but it's always up to us if we are going to enter this journey or not. I'm glad I did and I'm so thankful for those on the journey with me.

The Bueno Top 10

We have lived in Mexico for almost 8 months and though we  I had a rocky few months at the beginning, we are really content and happy to live here. Actually, sometimes, I feel hesitant to share just how happy we are because isn't living in a developing nation supposed to be hard? But a good friend pointed out that if that were true, how could we actually help anyone if we were living in a state of despair or frustration? Good point. And so, these are my Top 10 things I love about living in Mexico.

1. The sunshine. Everyday. Sunshine just makes me happy, even if it's covered in smog, I'll take it. I used to say crazy things like "Well, I feel like I can appreciate the summer more since I've suffered through the cold winter." Absurdity. I appreciate the sunshine everyday.

2. The colors. This sort of goes along with #1. Trees are green, flowers are bright purple, buildings are orange, candy is all shades of unnatural-ness. Life is colorful, and colors also make me happy.

3. Our apartment. For multiple reasons. First, it's the perfect size for our family, plus it has the space to host overnight guests. Second, sunshine pours into our windows all day long. I think it goes without saying, but this makes me happy. Third, we have a parking spot with our number on it. Our number. And it's right outside of our apartment. (In Lancaster, we had on street parking for 8 years, and when it snowed, life got real-real. But here, there's always a place for us! And no snow!) Fourth, we have no less than 3 fountains in our apartment complex, that when mixed with the sound of chirping birds, it feels more like a retreat center than a city with 26 million people.

4. The food. We go to market every week and fill at least 3-4 bags full of produce and spend maybe $20. Besides the food I can buy at the market, which includes fresh chicken, beef, and of course bacon, this city has THE best tacos, tostadas, and tortas that I've ever had. 

5. The traffic-light vendors. Sometimes, this can be annoying, people selling things everywhere I look. But mostly, it's pretty awesome. If I'm at a traffic light and really want to know which part of Africa Burkina Faso is in, I'm not going to turn to my trusty iPhone. That'd be crazy. Instead, I can buy a giant laminated world map and find out right then! If I need a huge afro wig, I can buy that too without even having to leave the comfort of my car. If I look down and see my sweater has too many lint balls, BAM! I can buy a lint-ball remover at the same traffic light (or a different one). Pretty much anything you can think of is available at some traffic light: back-scratchers, snacks, flowers, puppets, tv trays, phone chargers, tissues, 3D puzzles of the Eiffel Tower, and more.

6. The street-vendors. Lining every street are vendors selling everything from single cigarettes to handmade trashcans, to pirated movies, to delicious food. My favorite thing to buy on the street is mango. It's a cup-full, pre-cut, for 15 pesos. I will gladly pay around $1 for pre-cut mangos. It's a little bit of a problem I have. I know of at least three locations of these Mango Vendors off the top of my head that are within close distance of my house.

7. The culture of politeness. This is also something that will end up on my Top 10 list of things I don't like, but there is a part of this I really appreciate and need to learn from. I am never afraid that someone is going to flip out on me for something; I feel welcomed at every gathering because if someone doesn't like me, they surely will not let me know; and road rage isn't something I worry about at all. People are more relaxed, in that sense, and less easily offended.

8. The culture of celebration. This too will end up on my other list, but mostly, I love this aspect of Mexico. There is seriously a celebration for everything--at Christmas it's 9 days of celebration, for Easter, two weeks. Sunday lunches are akin to our holiday meals, in length and amount of food, so these too, are like celebrations (to me). My kids eat more candy than I ever could've imagined that are the result of life-sized pinatas. But, thanks to this aspect of the culture, I am learning to relax and celebrate more--with sugar! 

9. The culture of service. I'm still adjusting to this, but there is an affordable service available for everything. I can get my car washed inside and out for 50 pesos--like $3.50. At the grocery store, someone directs me where to park, asks if I want my car washed while I'm shopping, someone bags my groceries, someone will load my groceries into my car, and someone else will help me back out of my parking space. Of course I would need to tip each person a couple pesos, so I don't typically take everyone up on their offer. But if I bought a few heavy items and truly needed help, it's available. Almost every restaurant delivers and even the stands at market will deliver my groceries--all I have to do is call. 

10. Our community. Someone commented to me the other day that we seem to be adjusting well and rather quickly. I would agree and think much of it has to do with the fact that we are not here alone. We have an already established community of friends who are a tremendous support to us. Of course we all still have to do the work of getting to know each other, but the fact that there is a group of people that welcomed us so easily in so many ways, is a huge reason why we are able to adjust to living here pretty easily. Last Sunday, Clementine was crying about something at church, and a lady, who is our friend, came over and offered to take her to her house for the entire day to play. She ended up taking Olive too and Alan and I had an impromptu and much needed date. This is just one tiny example of the kindness we have received from so many people here. 

Some bonus items:

*Grown adults in suits/work attire, running to catch a bus--this is a regular/normal occurrence

*The streets always have random pockets of sewage stench, so who can ever really know if you farted or not?

*Mother's Day is second, in terms of importance and reverence, to Christmas, just as it should be.

*Our kids now use names like Cecilia, Natalia, or Emilia when playing instead of Megan or Emily.

*The lack of regulations= the steepest inflatable rides I've ever seen

We have so much to be thankful for, even when things are difficult (like when we had a bit of a bed bug problem). In addition to our community here that has helped us adjust so well, it is also because of all of our friends, family and supporters in PA and elsewhere that have continued to encourage us, pray for us, and love us from afar. Just 10 minutes ago, Alan came home with a care package from some of our lovely friends reminding us that we are loved and missed, and for the record, the feelings are mutual.

-M

Let Me Explain

In two days, we will have lived in Mexico for 6 months. Technically, this means that 25% of our two-year commitment has been completed; un-technically it means we are still adjusting and learning. I hope to write more, just to communicate what life is like here, because many times what we think we know about someone's life, isn't really the whole story. And I'm a big fan of whole stories. I suppose we are technically “missionaries” (though I don’t refer to myself as such very often), and I had lots of ideas and thoughts about missionaries before becoming one. Here are a few:

1. They love adventure and new places

2. They are so busy they probably hardly think about their friends

3. How easy—they get to live on other peoples’ money!

4. They are satisfied and have peace because they are making huge sacrifices to help others

Now, let me explain.

1.  I don’t hate adventure or new places, but I wouldn’t say I love them either. I’m what you might call a low-risk-taker. I was in Costa Rica, several years ago, in the jungle with the purpose of zip lining through it. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, I’m sure, but I declined with a polite “no gracias.” Instead, I sat in the tree house and painted my nails, because that’s about as risky as I get. But in my defense, one time, not too long before this, I gave in to the lure of “it’s-a-once-in-a-life-time-opportunity” and I inadvertently ended up mostly naked in some crystal-clear ocean of Brazil in front of a lot of people and one giant starfish. I may not be great at taking risks, but I’m really good at learning lessons. Lesson. Learned.

I don’t love adventure or new places—I tend to love comfort and security more. I like knowing what to expect and how to do things. Living abroad provides neither of those comforts. It is a constant learning process, which is tiring. I think of other people, maybe people I’ve seen on the Travel channel or just people I’ve imagined, and they enjoy, even embrace all the differences of new cultures. I see their smiling, excited faces as they taste new, unfamiliar, possibly laden with hepatitis cuisine. I see them, without reservation, butchering the language and being so proud of themselves just for trying. They move through this new land with the awe and wonder of a child. This is not what I look like. I look more like the dejected teenager in high school who can’t open her locker, has broccoli in her teeth, and thinks everyone is laughing at her. Living abroad, for me, is definitely a huge serving of Humble Pie.

2.  I am busy, that much is true. I am busy learning how life works in Mexico; I am busy taking care of my family; I am busy watching American TV because it feels like home. It’s also true that we have an amazing group of friends here and we are making new friends every week. All of this truth, though, doesn’t mean that I don’t miss all my friends from home more than I can adequately communicate. Being known by someone is the ultimate gift; being understood, even when saying all the wrong things, is invaluable; and being loved for everything that I am and am not, is a true picture of grace. I don’t know why I get to have people like this in my life, but I am so thankful for them. These are not friendships that can be duplicated or replaced and so I cherish them. I am never too busy to miss you.

3. Living on other peoples’ money is simultaneously humbling and slightly stressful. We do not ever take lightly the fact that we are here because we have people supporting us monthly. We understand that every check that is written is a sacrifice. We try to continually express our thanks to everyone who supports us in any way because we are so thankful. Like filled-to-the-brim thankful. It is nothing short of a miracle, in our eyes, that we are here. We also know that life happens, finances change, people forget to write checks. And so I live in between thankfulness and worry. And yet each month, it all works out, and I’m learning to worry less. Living on support is also part of the Humble Pie that I was eating in point number 1. It’s this reminder of how small I am and how it takes so many of us, working together, to create beauty in broken places. None of us can do it alone.

4.  I’ve been having a slight faith crisis for several years now. Sometimes major things and sometimes not. Something that has nagged me forever, it seems, is never being enough or doing enough. In my mind, I can always do more and be better. The concept of being content can be foreign to me at times because I confuse it with apathy and apathy is unproductive. What I really long for is that settled feeling in my heart that says, “you are enough”. Most days, I don’t have it. I have a feeling though, that no matter what I do or where I go, it will never feel like enough. Part of this journey of living here has involved stripping away everything that once gave me value—my education, my language skills, my friends, etc—and realizing that I have value with or without those things. I am extravagantly loved by God, not because I have a college degree or can tell amusing stories, but because I am worthy of love. My name literally means “worthy of love” and yet it’s so hard for me to believe, that without accomplishments, that is true. But I need to believe it because right now I have almost nothing to offer, except for embarrassing stories.

The good news is, I’m not rocking and crying in a corner, figuring out how to get out of here. No matter how hard it is, it’s not impossible. No matter how frustrating the language barrier can be, we can communicate. No matter how lonely it can feel at times, we have technology that let’s us connect with our far-away-friends. And we have funny cat videos on YouTube. Seriously, who doesn’t love watching a cat trying to jump over a baby gate and not clear it?!

I think it’s fair to paint a realistic picture of life for others while I think it’s unfair to whine about life. So, we are happy. We are tired. We are thankful. We are worried. We are figuring it out. We are eating Humble Pie daily. We are here. We are living in the tension of all of the above, and we wouldn’t change it. Really, we wouldn’t. Sometimes, the hardest things we do are the most rewarding and fulfilling. This is one of those things. Along with raising children and being married. And living in a college dorm room with a stranger. Nope, that was just hard. Not rewarding. Or fulfilling.

I Laugh to Keep from Crying

Living in another culture has been…funny? frustrating? lonely? enriching? All of the above?

Sometimes I can start feeling sorry for myself about how hard it is to order a taco or how I don’t feel safe to venture out by myself, thus I am stuck indoors all day, etc. But then I remember how incredible this journey is, how lucky (if you need to insert “blessed” here to sleep better tonight, please do. I always wondered at what age I would start incorporating words like “blessed” into my vocabulary with ease. So far, it’s not been in the first 30 years of my life. I’ll keep you posted.) I am to get to experience another culture, and how humbling it is to believe my life is not my own.

I wish I had a camera following us around some days so that we can watch the footage later and be amused by our sad little Spanish skills, our amazing charade skills, and our ability to survive each day.  Sometimes I just have to laugh to keep from crying. But sometimes I do both at the same time and that scares the children. If this blog were a camera, here is the footage:

*I found out today that all this time I’ve been asking people if they love me rather than asking if they want me to do something for them, which was my intended question. Oops. It explains a lot of the weird responses I’ve gotten.

*Alan was trying to order hamburgers the other day, over the phone, and even warned them that his Spanish was not great. Not even halfway through the order, they hung up on him because he kept asking them to repeat the question because he didn’t understand. We really wanted burgers, so we took our order down to the guard at our apartment complex and asked if he could do it for us. You hit a low point when you can’t successfully order a hamburger.

*Speaking of the guard, Alan and he like to teach each other vocabulary in their respective languages. He teaches Alan Spanish words and Alan teaches him English words. Alan was trying to teach him to say ‘peanuts’ but did not emphasize how important the ‘t’ is. So our guard was saying, loudly, “pee-nus. Pee-nus? Pee-nus!!!” I wonder how many times our mispronunciations result in us talking about inappropriate things.

*The girls often have projects due for school that seem pretty advanced. This last project they had to give a presentation on a certain subject, accompanied by a visual aid such as power point, a diorama, etc. This is not my strength, so when we created two play-dough sharks with a few fish and even some seaweed and glued them onto a piece of cardboard (probably 6in. x 8in.) covered in blue tissue paper I found crumpled up in an old gift bag, I felt really proud. Overly proud. We even gave the Great White Shark rice teeth so they looked sharp. At the end of the week (the project was due Monday), the teacher sent the projects home with all the students’ parents. As I stood in the schoolyard with my little six-inch diorama (and I say mine because I basically made the whole thing) parents were streaming by me with these big, ornate projects. One included a whale, leaping out of the airbrushed ocean surrounded by dozens of fish that were NOT created with play-dough. And it was probably 2ft. x 2ft. I just started laughing because if this is what happens in preschool, then we are in TROUBLE. The worst part is, I was thinking I could just chalk it up as a fail and put the little sharks in a drawer somewhere, but no. They want to display all the children’s projects next month, so we need to bring them back. After the diorama spent a week in a classroom with 3 year olds, the poor shark looks like it’s from West Virginia, with only 4 teeth.

*Oh, did I tell you about that time I punched a nanny in the mouth? THAT was embarrassing. I was opening up my arms real wide for a hug from Clementine after school, but what I didn’t realize was that a really short lady was standing behind me and her mouth was exactly the same height as my flailing arms and BAM! I whacked her in the face. We had only been here a few weeks and I didn’t even know how to correctly say “I’m so sorry. I feel really bad. Are you okay?” I just kept repeating “lo siento, lo siento” which was the best I could do at the time. And since she nannies for a family in our complex I knew I’d see her again, so I quick Googled how to say more to her to let her know I’m not a violent American who thinks I can punch people in the mouth. Thank God for Google.

*I don’t really have one specific instance, but many really, of awkward greetings/departures. It is pretty normal to “kiss” on the cheek when saying hello and goodbye to people you know. That information would’ve been helpful in the first month when I thought you just kissed EVERYONE you met. Hahaha, I was giving people cheek kisses that I didn’t know. I’m still trying to figure out the rhythm of the cheek-kiss/hug greeting vs. just the hug vs. just the cheek-kiss. I pretty much mess it up every time and it feels like an awkward first date. And sometimes it gets real touch-and-go when two foreigners are trying to greet each other and we mess it up pretty badly and almost kiss on the lips.

I’m pretty certain I have yet to say one whole sentence correctly in Spanish, unless it’s a sentence a baby could say. But if it involves an indirect object in the subjunctive tense, count me out. It can feel pretty frustrating that I don’t even know how to say “do you want me to do that for you?” correctly, but believe it or not, I’ve come a long way. I can totally apologize to someone now when I punch them in the face.

- M

Nothing new about grace

It’s been awhile since I’ve written. Not because of a lack of things to write about, but quite the contrary. I have so much that is always marinating in my brain and in my heart that it’s hard to sort it out and communicate it in a way that makes sense. And sometimes, it’s in the very beginning stages and if I were to write about my thoughts, it would not be wise.

Writing a blog, speaking publicly, or posting a status for that matter is a privilege that can be, and is, abused sometimes. It’s a one-sided “conversation” that allows us (me) to vent, complain, brag, etc. without the courtesy of really hearing another side. And as a reader, it can leave us (me) feeling frustrated or angry, because how rare it is to communicate so succinctly in a written piece, an oral presentation, or a status that the reader has no questions and knows exactly where the person is coming from. That, my friends, requires a serious amount of grace on both sides. Grace for the writer to understand that her story is just one of millions and it will be read through millions of different lenses; and grace for the reader to understand that the writer is human and may not communicate everything exactly as she means. Grace is noble and necessary and often forgotten. Therefore, each time I think about writing something or even saying something, I am learning to ask myself a few things beforehand: what is my motive? Am I trying to stir peoples’ hearts or just stir the pot to create divisiveness?  Am I writing from a standpoint of grace or am I just venting and unloading on unsuspecting readers? Am I open to differing opinions or will anger and defensiveness creep in if someone dare offer an opposing view? And am I being honest?

How can I have grace for another? I think it’s a virtue that develops through discipline. I train my brain to choose to see beyond the immediate circumstance and believe the best about the other person. I train my brain to choose to put myself in the other person’s shoes. I train my brain to choose to think about why someone may be doing or saying certain things. I give them grace each time I choose this way of thinking.

I can certainly assume the worst of my neighbor, friend, family member. I can assume that everything is personal and they were leaving me out on purpose, or they didn’t pay me back for lunch because they are cheap, or they haven’t talked to me in months because they are selfish and don’t care about me. OR, I can choose to brainstorm best case scenarios: maybe they didn’t invite me because they didn’t think I had time in my schedule or because maybe I’m not their only friend and they just wanted to spend time with someone else; maybe they didn’t pay me back because they simply forgot or because money is tight right now; maybe they haven’t called me because their life got busy or they lost my number or they hate talking on the phone or they just got some bad news and their life is turned upside down right now and they really can’t think of anyone else at the moment. In every interaction, I have a choice.

Approximately 100% of the time, I am wrong in my first impressions of people and in my first interpretation of a situation. My worldview is so so so so small. My story is unique to me; everyone has a story. A valuable story. People are complex. Situations are complex. They can be looked at through offensive lenses, or they can be looked at through lenses of grace. I want to wear those glasses—the ones with grace.

We all know people who are easily offended. Where I have to pay a price if I wrong that person. Like the lady at market whose foot I accidentally ran over with my stroller. She howled for several seconds and gave me a look of death. I said sorry over and over but she just kept howling. A grown woman, howling in Central Market. It was an accident. All I could say was sorry. But she needed to let me know just how badly I hurt her. I needed to know so that somehow I could pay for her pain.

That is obviously a minor example of a lack of grace, but it’s in these everyday occurrences that I have the opportunity to extend grace, kindness, self-control, gentleness, love, and peace to my neighbor (i.e. anyone and everyone). A few weeks ago, I asked my friend, who happens to be a monk, if he, or any of his monk friends get angry. Peace is their anthem, so I was just curious. His response was that it’s all about perspective. He can view someone as an annoyance or villain or enemy, or he can view them as his greatest teacher. If someone is annoying him, it’s his chance to practice patience; if someone offends him, it’s his opportunity to practice grace, and so on. I’ve been thinking of this for weeks. It’s usually in the moments when someone is annoying me or doing me wrong that I justify why I can act like a turd. But that’s not healthy, nor is it all like Jesus. He didn’t throw a tantrum on the cross or tell his murderers how wrong they were; he begged for God to pardon them and he extended them grace, in the midst of the worst offense.

Developing grace requires me to recognize how much of it I’ve been given. And I’ve been given much of it. I used to shake my head and utter phrases like “I’m glad I’m not married to someone like that” when I’d witness a spouse being difficult. Then one day, it dawned on me that I am the difficult spouse! That wasn’t super fun. Once I could take an honest look at myself, though, I realized just how much grace I’ve been shown by Alan, and in return, I’m compelled to show it to him.

Grace, kindness, gentleness, love—all of these work together to create peace. In a world that is incredibly broken right now, we all want peace. And yes, we can pray for it to come, but the hard truth is, it’s going to come through you and me. We are the peacemakers. Peace isn’t going to come as long as we (grown adults) are getting into arguments on facebook (or in real life) that are laden with pride. Peace isn’t going to come as long as we are name calling our political leaders. Peace isn’t going to come as long as we are assuming the worst about people and requiring that each person who wrongs us pay some price. Peace will come when we forgive. Peace will come when we listen. Peace will come when look beyond ourselves and realize that everyone is valuable and everyone deserves kindness. Peace will come when we take up our cross and follow Him.

Let’s be a breath of fresh air to those around us. Let our words be salve to those who are hurting. Let’s bring life and light into a room—not harshness and criticism. Let’s pay it forward, the grace we’ve been given by our Savior, to those around us. 

- M