When Grace Catches Us as We Fall

Sometimes I want to give up.

I see the long line stretching in the Alabama heat—people standing for hours, waiting for three afternoons a week just to get a free dinner and a box of free leftover produce from a grocery store or day-old bread from the bakery or whatever size bars of soap that some sweet soul donates along the way.

And I wonder: Is this really helping? Does anything change? What good are we doing?

I don’t see the girl begin to fall. She’s in line with her mother and they’re not yet to the shaded side of the building.

She starts going down. A man in line sees what’s happening and rushes to her. He catches her before she hits the ground.

Another lady in line also sees what’s happening and pulls out her cell phone. She dials 911.

I catch up with them as Winston is escorting them inside so she can sit down and cool off. Color is returning to her cheeks, but she still looks faint. Her mother is calm. She says this happens.

The paramedics find us and check her out as okay. She refuses their offer of a trip to the hospital.

They say she can drink, so I rummage around back and find a warm coke, thankful she asked for it that way. Winston and Mary Beth cut into the food line to gather several big bags of food for her so that her mom can take her home and not have to return later to get what she needs.

I wait with them as they get the food to go. I see the mother is disabled herself—I’d noticed a heavy limp—and the daughter tells me that her mom cares not only for her, but for a total of fifteen people in two houses. Some are family, others are just strays who need help.

May they be shown mercy. Healing. Rest.

A few more minutes pass. The mom leaves to get the car. I ask Ricky, a friend in line, to lend a strong arm to walk the girl outside to the car. He gladly does.

The girl thanks us for everything.

The outward happenings of any situation—whether a near fall or a line full of hungry people or a volunteer struggling to see grace—are mirror images of things also happening inside us. The girl needing help. Her fellow compatriots in line. Her mom and the volunteers and the paramedics and Ricky. And you reading it all.

• Are we seeing grace or not?
• Are we believing in mercy?
• Are we being compassionate?

May our hearts keep growing in love to see more, believe more, be more.

We close her car door. The next things still need to be done, so we all move along. Nobody else goes down today. . . .

Where have you recently seen or experienced grace in an unexpected way?

Share your thoughts in the comments.

Read more:

• 6 Lessons When Curiosity Meets Compassion
  Learning how to be compassionate is a lesson that never ends. After making it my Word of the Year years ago, I find myself revisiting it with a new One Word, Curiosity.
• What Can I Do? For Now, This Is My Something
  My friend needs something I can’t give. What can I do? For now, this is my something.
• “I’m not sure”—Is This Compassionate?
  Is being uncertain a path to compassion? Can admitting we don’t know open us to deeper connections?

revised from the archives

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