A Gift of Grace

When I was growing up on the overcrowded but beautiful island of Java, my best friend lived in the capital city, about three hours worth of bumper to bumper driving, noxious diesel fumes, and car sickness away from the bustling metropolis where my family lived. Every few months, our parents prioritized sending one of us to the other, nurturing our friendship until three years of boarding school put us not only in the same town but the same dorm. Sara’s siblings were extra siblings to me. Her parents, tía Mari and tío David, were bonus parents. Her home had a significant impact on who I became, how I was shaped.

Was it easy for our parents to figure out rides for us from one city to the other? Probably not. Did it come at a price for them? I’m sure it did—and not just in what they paid to feed the two of us when we were preteens and I was eating everything that wasn’t nailed down. But they did it because they loved us. It was a gift that we couldn’t fully appreciate until we became adults and had our own kids and our own schedules and our own sometimes inconvenient priorities.

Tío David and tía Mari left Indonesia about ten years ago to come back to the States and care for their aging parents. My parents left not long after for the same reason. And last week, I sat at my parents’ table with my best friend’s parents across from me, as they told me about preparing to head back to Indonesia again…now that their parents no longer needed them.

This is Indonesia, but not where I grew up. We had more people and fewer water buffalo.

As we talked, Sara’s parents shared what was on their hearts as they got ready to go back around to the other side of the world. Tía Mari told us that she had been remembering what was said to her when she was a young mom, preparing to take her three small children to a foreign country with no idea of what laid ahead: that those who lasted were the ones who remembered their purpose and who intentionally chose gratitude. Then tío David shared that, as he waited to head back to Indonesia, the words ringing in his heart were that the going was a gift of grace.

Those words stopped me in my tracks. A gift of grace?

That it was a noble sacrifice—yes, that could be argued. That it was an obedient surrender—that too. That it was a late in life challenge—sure. But having grieved the loss of parents, having said goodbye to children and grandchildren, having left a comfortable house and a thriving ministry, he saw the return to Indonesia not as something admirable to be credited to him and his wife, but as a gift from a loving Father.

I had to pause and think about some of what I term as challenges in my own life. Would I call them gifts of grace? Could I?

A third squadron command for the Man. Could this be a gift of grace?

Homeschooling five kids. Could this?

A tenth move. Even this?

And I heard deep in my heart: yes, this, even this, all of this. Gifts of grace because each challenge that on the surface may just look hard, provides the opportunity to draw closer to Christ, to serve others with love, to take the next step into the deep that calls to deep.

I unfortunately missed tía Mari’s smile in this picture, but the camera wouldn’t have been able to capture her laugh anyway. Besides, I was too busy enjoying them to take more pictures.

All those years ago, each car ride through the mountains of Bogor was a gift of grace from our parents. I may not have seen it at the time, but I see it now—and I hope it continues to open my eyes to the sometimes difficult gifts of grace that God provides for me now.

My seasons of depression. Gifts of grace.

Deployment babies. Gifts of grace.

Parenting challenges. Gifts of grace.

Health limitations. Gifts of grace.

I can see it more clearly when I remember my purpose, when I remember what really matters . And I can see it more clearly when that purpose informs my thanksgiving, when I choose gratitude because I know that my heart’s deepest need is a closer relationship with Jesus.

But we can’t always see it in the moment. Sometimes the bread our Father gives looks like a rock. Sometimes He gives us a fish, but it looks like a snake. Sometimes He gives us friendship, but it looks like bumper-to-bumper traffic and diesel fumes and car sickness.

Yet when we remember who He is, when we hold fast to the truth of His character, then we know: it’s all grace.

It could only ever be grace.

Every. Single. Bit.

Every. Single. Gift.