How Do We Survive such Terrible Grace?

I know. This does not look like terrifying grace. I know you will think I am exaggerating. Or that I'm off my hormones, or need on them. But do you know how it all began? With earth, wind and fire. Winds gusting to 60 mph. An uncontrolled fire breaking out near Kodiak the day before. High seas and unflyable skies. Planes grounded. 100 year old ash from Novarupta erasing the mountains, choking us. Like this, in the midst of this, they came. (Yes, late. Nearly every one, delayed by the ungodly roaring elements.)

But on Saturday---THE day scheduled for us all to fly out----the ash settled, the winds calmed, the seas slept---and our little plane made it out. And our little skiff made the watery journey the rest of the way. 

The very next day, it blew again. Hard. We would not have madeit out that day. Or the next.  So I look at the photos from this past week, the week of the third Harvester Island Wilderness Workshop---and tears come. Fear comes. My face melts with fatigue, with a touch of  self-loathing and great gulps of wonder and disbelief. 

I know you may not understand this, how it feels to live on an island, a very far away island for 38 summers and a few winters----and most of that time alone with your family, with the ones you love. But you are lonely still . .... 

You know about loneliness. We all share this, don't we? Loneliness, paradoxically, is our common lot. But I know you dream, too. You dream on your own island, in whatever waters your island sails, of something impossible. That you know will never, ever happen. 

And then, one day it does. And though I have planned it to the last detail, no one is more surprised, more afraid, more humbled than me. Because----

tucked away in the deepest pocket of my heart was a longing to open the door of this faraway place, and to bring others in. Even for just one week. Others who love what I love. Others who see my island for the first time, so I see it again, too, through them.  

And I do. See again. 

 It is not only this, this inconceivable thing, that lovers of words and God would fly thousands of miles to land here on this piece of earth and sea. That my far north life would be theirs for this week, that their presence would bring companionship and joy, far more than I ever could have guessed. 

There is yet more. Years ago, I had to give up teaching. It wasn't my choice, entirely, but the Lord made it clear. To give up this thing that I loved. And I did. I gave it up-----twice. But He keeps giving it back to me. I did not even dare to dream of this.

And here is the terror of this grace. I am Simon Peter who is out fishing, living his normal drab life and then he is told to do something he knows won't work--throw your net on the other side. He doesn't want to do it. And then he is drowning in fish, sobbing, forehead flat on the feet of Jesus as he says the truest thing he has ever said, "Go away from me! I'm too full of sin to be near you!"

 How can He bear to come near this bumbling, flat-footed, selfish woman who cannot stop sinning, who cannot lay down her wounds, who struggles to trust, who keeps tipping the scales to herself, who deserves nothing but what she has earned: darkness and death??   How does He come near to this woman? How does He listen to her? How does He bless her far past her prayers?

This is terrible grace---terrible for Him, wondrous for me, because He fearlessly plunges into that darkness---and hauls me out into this. Into this:

I learn again: Grace is an unparseable blend of undeserved, profligate mercy from our limitless God, but we cannot think we are simply to sit around and wait for it to come to us. We have our part too: we must long and thirst and pray and ask and work toward receiving it. 

I don't know what your dreams are, what your prayers are, but I know one or two that can be answered soon. This week. This month. Joy and friends and companionship and the thrill of giving to others can happen in your house, in the coffee shop, at your church. You don't have to look around for someone else to do this, and pray wild prayers with desperate hope. God's grace is ready to be poured out on you and on all who gather with you, no matter how far away your island. Pick up the phone. Email a friend. Go to church this week. Invite your family over. Invite friends and make of them a family. 

God's grace is nearer than you imagine.

Do not be afraid. 

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