So, to follow up one good Lutheran entry with another, let's talk grace for a while. Hopefully you will extend some grace to me related to how incredibly remiss I've been about updating; I had an intense (but amazing) month on the road after leaving Uruguay, and now that I'm back in southeast Texas, reconnecting with people and getting ready for the big move up to Chicago in a few days, I finally have some time to write again.
This is hardly an earth-shattering linguistic revelation, but..."thank you" in Spanish is "gracias." Graces to thank you for what you've done, for being who you are and where you are. Grace abounds linguistically in the Spanish-speaking world. It thanks you, and it makes you laugh - "la gracia," after all, is the humor in a given situation, and it's common to refer to something that was funny as being "gracioso/a" instead of "comico/a." As in English, a dancer can be marked by "mucha gracia" if s/he is particularly natural and fluid in her/his movements. Grace abounds, it appears in virtually every conversation, it surprises you.
Grace is like a child, I think, and the best teachers of it what it means have proven not to be my pastors, or my professors, but some of the children who God put in my life this past year. I learned about grace from Federico. I did nothing to earn his affection, other than exist, and he gave it anyway. One moment in particular stands out, probably just because it's my first memory of Federico. It was a Wednesday afternoon music time, and I had sat down on one of the benches just before the kids came into the room. Federico nearly fought his way over to my bench, plopped right down beside me, and within a few minutes had put his arm around mine and started to lean up against me. That's grace. I did nothing; I merely received freely, through no goodness or actions on my own.
Another grace moment from music time, this time with Gretel. I was convinced, at first, that Gretel absolutely hated me, and I couldn't figure out why. In the beginning, she didn't want to have anything to do with anyone, but she began warming up to other kids, and to the teachers...but not to me. Still, every week during the greeting song, I'd stick my hand out to her in the hopes that she'd shake it. And one day, after I'd given up hope of it every happening, she did...and with a huge smile on her face. That's grace. I asked, I sought, I knocked; I was answered, I found, the door was opened to me, and in the most surprising way possible...and still, I really did nothing to receive it. I just showed up and went about my normal routine, and then grace broke its way through the wall and left nothing in my perception of its right place.
Of course, I can't talk about grace without mentioning the only girl this year to earn the title of "princesa" on my list of pet names, Ana Karen. She couldn't remember my name to save her life for the first few months - I was just "maestro," or upon occasion, "cocinero" if I'd been helping serve at snack time. And then, one day: "Keveen, necesito ayuda con mis zapatos." It had happened so many times before - Anita simply hadn't mastered the art of tying her shoelaces yet, and so she'd ask me to help her re-tie them. As I was halfway through tying the first shoe, it hit me - she'd asked KEVIN, not "maestro" to help her. That's grace. It recognizes us for who we are, the fearfully and wonderfully made children of God that we've been formed to be, and just when we'd forgotten and accepted the meaningless anonymity the world tries so hard to force upon us.
I could write from now until the end of the world about grace moments from the past year. They weren't all with the kids; they weren't always obvious when they happened. Some of them, I've no doubt, will remain undiscovered for what they are, maybe just for a while, maybe forever. But God's grace is active in this world, grim a place as it may be sometimes; maybe our highest calling as a people of God is to see the grace that abounds in our lives, let it come into us and transform us, and then share it how we can.
This is hardly an earth-shattering linguistic revelation, but..."thank you" in Spanish is "gracias." Graces to thank you for what you've done, for being who you are and where you are. Grace abounds linguistically in the Spanish-speaking world. It thanks you, and it makes you laugh - "la gracia," after all, is the humor in a given situation, and it's common to refer to something that was funny as being "gracioso/a" instead of "comico/a." As in English, a dancer can be marked by "mucha gracia" if s/he is particularly natural and fluid in her/his movements. Grace abounds, it appears in virtually every conversation, it surprises you.
Grace is like a child, I think, and the best teachers of it what it means have proven not to be my pastors, or my professors, but some of the children who God put in my life this past year. I learned about grace from Federico. I did nothing to earn his affection, other than exist, and he gave it anyway. One moment in particular stands out, probably just because it's my first memory of Federico. It was a Wednesday afternoon music time, and I had sat down on one of the benches just before the kids came into the room. Federico nearly fought his way over to my bench, plopped right down beside me, and within a few minutes had put his arm around mine and started to lean up against me. That's grace. I did nothing; I merely received freely, through no goodness or actions on my own.
Another grace moment from music time, this time with Gretel. I was convinced, at first, that Gretel absolutely hated me, and I couldn't figure out why. In the beginning, she didn't want to have anything to do with anyone, but she began warming up to other kids, and to the teachers...but not to me. Still, every week during the greeting song, I'd stick my hand out to her in the hopes that she'd shake it. And one day, after I'd given up hope of it every happening, she did...and with a huge smile on her face. That's grace. I asked, I sought, I knocked; I was answered, I found, the door was opened to me, and in the most surprising way possible...and still, I really did nothing to receive it. I just showed up and went about my normal routine, and then grace broke its way through the wall and left nothing in my perception of its right place.
Of course, I can't talk about grace without mentioning the only girl this year to earn the title of "princesa" on my list of pet names, Ana Karen. She couldn't remember my name to save her life for the first few months - I was just "maestro," or upon occasion, "cocinero" if I'd been helping serve at snack time. And then, one day: "Keveen, necesito ayuda con mis zapatos." It had happened so many times before - Anita simply hadn't mastered the art of tying her shoelaces yet, and so she'd ask me to help her re-tie them. As I was halfway through tying the first shoe, it hit me - she'd asked KEVIN, not "maestro" to help her. That's grace. It recognizes us for who we are, the fearfully and wonderfully made children of God that we've been formed to be, and just when we'd forgotten and accepted the meaningless anonymity the world tries so hard to force upon us.
I could write from now until the end of the world about grace moments from the past year. They weren't all with the kids; they weren't always obvious when they happened. Some of them, I've no doubt, will remain undiscovered for what they are, maybe just for a while, maybe forever. But God's grace is active in this world, grim a place as it may be sometimes; maybe our highest calling as a people of God is to see the grace that abounds in our lives, let it come into us and transform us, and then share it how we can.
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