The thing about Grace is that just when I feel like there could not possibly be enough to cover over my constant bumblings and blunders, it proves to be so overwhelmingly sufficent that I am left in awe.
This morning, I found myself in the most humble of circumstances: Queing up outside the Cattle Castle at Lansdown Park along with hundreds of other people, eagerly waiting to be let in to a multi-boothed garage sale. I don't know about you, but I find garage sales to be the epitomy of excitement. I get to exercise my bartering skills. I strive to walk away as the stronger player. Setting a ridiculously low-priced goal, and only giving in if the seller bends enough. I win some. I lose some. But it's great fun either way. And while it is the junk-discarder who stands to gain the most from the transaction, (an empty basement and a bit of cash), when all is said and done I am left feeling like I got the better end of it. It is a fun game. A game no one is supposed to take too seriously, right? Well...
At 9:05, carrying my sleeping baby in my arms, the crowd was let in out of the rain, and I was swept along by the current of eager garage-salers. I peeled away at Booth #1 and immediately saw something to my liking. Jewellery. Nothing fancy. Just a string of beads, the likes of which I have seen my grandmother wear from time to time. I turned to the man with the yellow label on his shirt that said Booth # 1, (he bore a striking ressemblance to Ozzy Osbourne), and I held up the string of beads. My big opening offer? Two bucks. Yeah, maybe it was a bit low, but that's how I play the game.
Well, Ozzy did not like it one bit. "Excuse me?" He asked me this with his voice pitched high in disgust. I repeated my offer. There was a silence. I am assuming that he paused so that the depth of his distain for my offer would be made clear to me. He extricated the beads from my fingers and hung them back reverently on their plastic thumb tac. "Try $35," he finished. Stunned by his rudeness, I turned to leave when he grabbed for my arm. With a smile on his face that can only be describe as mean, he said; "If you want something for two bucks, there you go."And he pointed at a rack of gaudy plastic necklaces, some of which had the plastic paint peeling away from the beads.
Now, this is how the unpleasant interaction really came to an end: I said nothing. And I left. But I can assure you that on the 25-minute walk home, I pieced together several alternate endings to the episode. And I did so with pleasure. One such ending:
Ozzy points at the wares he feels are twoonie-worthy and smiles his mean smile. And I begin to laugh. And laugh, and laugh, and laugh. And then I look Ozzy in the face and tell him that if he wants to make any sales today, he may want to take a moment to reflect upon his surroundings. He is in a "Cow Castle," at Booth # 1 trying to make a little pocket money by selling junk at a GARAGE SALE! And then I would advise him to consider taking the acidly pretentious tone out of his voice when dealing with the few humble souls that have showed up here today just hoping to score a deal on some junk they actually find attractive in some small way. I even cup my hands around my mouth and shout out to the crowd; "If you find $2o too much to pay for used socks, Booth #1 is not for you. Keep walking."
I am sitting here now, two hours later, and I feel very small and very weak. Not one rude word escaped my mouth this morning. And Ozzy watched me walk away. He might even have been thinking he taught me a lesson. And he would have been right. But it was not the lesson he might have suspected. I learned a lesson about grace. Grace received. And grace given. You see, at that same sale, Booth # 35, I pulled a classic Jo-move. While holding Gabriel in on arm, I attempted to hold two glass vases in the other, and pull money out of my wallet. I failed, and one of the vases crashed to the floor and shattered everywhere. I heard one collective "Ohhhh"as 80 heads spun around to see what poor shmoe had caused the ruccus. And the yellow-tagged woman, who's vase I had just broken, looked at me; saw my red-faced embarassment; ignored the fact that I had lost her four dollars; and peered at the sleeping baby in my arms. "I see you've already found the best treasure here," she said looking at Gabriel.
Now, hours later, my simmering anger has been cooled down to room temperature. And I understand that I was a recipient of grace today. And not a giver. With every churningly vengeful thought, I, a Grace-endowed child of God, acted without grace towards a man who probably needed it desperately. While, I myself, despite having deserved atleast an annoyed head-shake, was treated most graciously by a woman who very likely does not know what grace truly means.
I am Grace-hungry. Hungry to receive. Hungry to give. I feel warm, knowing that I am surrounded by it in Christ. And I am eager to get back out into the world where there are angry people and difficult interactions at every turn. Because that is where I am supposed to be. I am meant to stand up in the face of all that anger and rudeness, and not just walk away. I am meant to show grace. Somehow. I trust that the details of how will be revealed to me in the moment.
There will always be more Ozzy's. And I know just what to offer the next one I meet . . . and it won't be two bucks.
