Eventually, It Breaks

This morning at church, I sat in the front row and sobbed.

My contorted face and streaming tears were only visible to the musicians on the stage in front of me. I doubt anybody saw me, even though, I wasn’t trying to hide my tears. They flowed freely, the rows behind me unaware.

This morning, my Aunt passed away. She had recently been placed on life support after a long struggle with various illnesses and health issues. My aunt’s family, my parents and sister had been by her bedside for several days as her life teetered and clung to each labored breath.

Her vitals monitored by machines and a staff of doctors and nurses.

Her communication reduced to hand squeezes and eye blinks.

The last time I saw my Aunt was when I was with my family this summer and we were celebrating her 70th birthday. She was always quick to smile and say something complimentary and she did so that night.

This morning at church, I sat in the front row and sobbed.

I’ve always thought “Amazing Grace” was a song about my salvation. My own redemption. My own need for grace. The realization that despite my mistakes, despite my flaws, despite my pride and bad decisions that there was a God who would offer me grace.

Grace,

a concept that I grapple to understand on a daily basis. This morning at church, it dawned on me that perhaps God’s grace is never fully expressed in our time here on earth. Maybe I’ll never fully understand the concept in this physical lifetime, but only when I finally see him face to face. Blind on this earth, but seeing in his presence. Lost, doing and saying all the right things here in physical being, but found spiritually, completely, in his presence.

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost, but now I’m found. Was blind but now I see.

I can see you now. I can see the love in your eyes.

Laying yourself down. Raising up the broken to life.”

This morning at church, I sat in the front row and sobbed.

I wept for my aunt. I wept for the family she leaves behind. I wept for the pain they will feel here on earth. I wept for the sadness that she lived much of her life in physical pain. Life, broken.

Then I thought that even though she wasn’t here anymore, she was realizing God’s full expression of grace. Seeing, hearing, running – life, unbroken.

It sounds trite. I’m too smart and too old to believe in fairytales like that. Sure, whatevs.

I don’t write a lot about my faith.

It doesn’t mean I don’t have it.

This morning at church, I sat in the front row and sobbed.