Encouragement
When Grace Falls Softly
The shouting and laughter from the kids in the pool echoed in the warm afternoon sun. The warm haziness of the early summer heat lifted up from the concrete as I kept my gaze locked on the fifteen or twenty kids in the pool. It was my first year as a lifeguard, and because of my rookie status I'd been given King Street, the worst of all the outdoor pools in the city. The hours were shorter, and the clientele was rough. I didn't mind the kids though, even if I was only 17. It was the adults that bothered me.
"Now go get changed!"
I turned my head at the raspy voice, and the large woman yelling at her daughter. The daughter was about eight, a tiny scrap of a thing, and she hustled into the change room, oblivious to her mother's tone. The mother, a large woman with rolls of fat bulging from beneath her bathing suit and a hard, mean face, stood impatiently with her arms folded across her chest. She noticed my gaze and glared at me. I raised my eyebrows and turned my head back towards the pool.
Occasionally I had to remind the kids not to run or dunk their friends under the water, but for the most part they were well behaved. I watched Tommy, the little six year old blond boy who was waiting for me every day when the gates opened, as he puddled around in the corner. He'd be here until I closed. I'd asked him about that once, and he'd told me quite simply that he couldn't go home. His dad was having sex with his girlfriend.
"What are you doing!" The mother's voice echoed across the pool. "You f---in little sl--! You put your bathing suit on backwards!"
I turned my head, incredulous at the way the mother had just addressed her daughter, and at the little blond girl, who had indeed put her bathing suit on backwards. The girl seemed confused, and now her mother was really screaming at her.
"Get back in there and do it right, dammit!"
I felt the anger flood through me. Stupid old woman! How dare she treat her daughter like that! But the mother looked at me as if reading my mind and glared at me again, daring me to do something. I held her gaze for a minute, and then turned back to the pool. God loved everybody, but I doubted He loved her. I stared at the pool. I didn't know what to do. But I felt the mother's words like a punch in the solar plexus. Maybe one day I could do something. Maybe not for that little girl, but for other kids...
...I slowed the car, and in the glare of the fading sunlight I saw the body on the road. I stopped, frowned, and then stepped out. The kid was already starting to stand. He had a smirk on his face, and told me he'd fallen because one of the girls had thrown a shoe at him. I looked over to the other side of the road. There were about eight of them there, just sitting on the corner under a tree.
I pulled my car ahead and parked. The kid had been lucky, because in the twilight it was difficult to see anything on the road. I got out and warned them in a light voice that they should be more careful. They nodded at me. They certainly didn't seem overwhelmed at my size or rough appearance, but then, one look at their clothes and faces and I knew they'd seen much, too much, for a group of thirteen year olds. One of the girls said something, and the boy who'd been lying on the road scoffed.
"It's not like I'm stealing your alimony check!"
A couple of the other kids laughed, and for a second I couldn't speak. I chatted with them for another minute and headed on my way towards home, a couple of blocks away. The sun had completely fallen now, and the road was covered in a blue haze. Seeing those kids made me think of my first summer as a lifeguard. About the woman and the girl. And it made me think about my mom, who'd been a social worker for nearly twenty-five years and the horror stories she brought home every week about kids being left in casinos and homes with no food or water while the parents were out partying or working. Or the abuse in these homes, and the kids growing up at eight or nine, never really enjoying a real childhood. And then I started thinking about grace. The unearned love of God that extended to everyone. Even the idiot parents.
I shook my head as I parked my car, and headed up to my apartment. Some people 'unearned' God's love less than others, I thought. When I got upstairs I turned on my computer to do some work, but I couldn't get those kids out of my head. Not just the kids on the street, or the little girl from many years ago, but all the kids I'd worked with since then. Nearly half of my life had been spent working with teenagers, and sometimes it became discouraging, because I knew what the kids were facing at home. How could God love everyone? They made me mad just thinking about it.
"It isn't fair, Lord. They don't have a chance!"
My voice echoed through the empty apartment. Some people did not believe in original sin because they thought the Bible a book of myths, or religious tales. I never argued with them about what they called it, but didn't it grab people in some way that humanity was broken somehow. Not just the kids and the parents and the families, but there was little about us humans that wasn't agitated. Conflict. Strife. Most things had seeds of contention in them, in even the most peaceful settings. I know I felt it, no matter how hard I tried to follow my Hero.
I shook my head and went to the kitchen to prepare a late supper. How did Jesus manage to love all those people. To this day, when I thought about that mother yelling at her daughter, I could feel the anger coursing through me. The idea that God loved her was, in so many ways, unfathomable.
I cut the chicken from the plastic and placed it in the pan. I doused it with a good bit of oil and a few herbs and started cutting the potatoes. I thought of Jesus saving the woman who had committed adultery, and the gratitude on her face, and how he'd changed her life. But what about the Pharisees? To me, they would have been the most frustrating, and I couldn't help but think of Jesus, a prominent Jewish Rabbi but in many ways an outcast, having trouble sleeping at night when he thought about his peers. Men who should know better, but ruled with fervor instead of mercy. If it were me, I would have wanted nothing more but to wipe them out, but instead, for the ones who truly sought Him, Jesus answered. Like Nicodemus.
I started thinking that maybe my anger was normal, but then, what had I done to help those kids lately? Hadn't I just gone home, fumed a bit, and then continued on with my night? Had I served out my anger so that in the end, I hadn't actually done anything to help? What good was it for me to recognize that those parents were idiots, and then do nothing?
The knife bit through the potato and cut into my skin.
"Ouch!"
I washed the blood off my finger, and watched the red drip into the sink. It was difficult for me to look at the church sometimes, because for all the good she did, it was hard not to see her faults. Hearing stories about the way churches cast people aside, for varying degrees of religious nonsense, often made me wonder what my faith was holding onto. It was so easy to complain, and even be right about the complaint, and than do nothing.
As if the judgment was enough.
I thought about Jesus, of the way He loved not only the ones who were hurting, but the bullies and mean ones as well. Oh, He told them what He thought, but for those who were willing, He was always there. That's grace I thought. A soft covering. The way the snow covered the trees in the winter. Softly falling, but enough to make the world white.
We had that in us too, I thought. With God's help. We had the ability to cover people or expose them. Be merciful or not. To our friends, to the suffering, or to our enemies. Because if I was honest, I realized that there were times when I was the bully. When I was the mean one. And yet, God's love, His grace, covered me, too.
The blood had finally stopped dripping, and I wiped my hands clean, my thoughts drawn back to the kids I'd seen earlier. Maybe they did have a chance. Maybe we all had one, if only we'd cover the world around us with grace, and allow ourselves to be covered by His...
Stephen Burns
www.stephenburns.ca
6
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