For the Pure Joy

               

Dear Old Friend,

This past weekend my son took my five year old grandson to a skating rink for the very first time, and let me tag along. 

There was great excitement during the lacing of the skates; then, my son took a turn around the rink by himself, to make sure his body actually remembered what to do before he attempted to take his son with him. My grandson could barely contain himself while waiting for his time to go out on the floor.  

Of course, at age five, he imagined that he would somehow just know what to do, and when he did finally get on the floor it was a shock to discover that, not only did he have no idea how to keep his balance on wheeled feet, it was also hard, death-defying work, even with his father holding onto him; and, within a few minutes he was overwhelmed and ready to give up. 

However, after a brief period of recuperation in the chair next to me he was lured back up on his feet by the promise of a skate-walking trip with his dad, on the indoor/outdoor carpet, to the glass display case which held candy and trinkets. Because he was thinking about where he was going and not what he was doing, he actually did pretty well; and, with his confidence level up, he was willing to give the rink another shot.  He wasn’t out there very long, though, before the announcement was made that it was time to clear the floor for the races.

When the first group of children about my grandson's age lined up to race, my son explained to him what was going on, and suddenly my grandson became terrified.  He stretched out his arm, with his hand waving in protest, and declared with tearful vehemence that he was not going. Both my son and I immediately reassured him that, of course, we didn’t expect him to go out on the floor and race; but he remained convinced that someone was going to try to make him do this, and he watched with great concern as the children zoomed around the rink.  

When the next age group was announced and more children took their places, my grandson again stuck out his hand to ward off anyone who might attempt to force him to do what he knew he could not do.  His fear overwhelmed him and he hid his face in his father’s side.  It took a lot of comforting and explaining before he finally believed that he was safe, and he was able to relax.

That scene kept replaying in my mind this week because I realized that I experience the exact same crippling fear my precious grandson felt, every time I hear a sermon, or read a book, or even when I read a passage of scripture through the lens of Law rather than Gospel, which makes me feel like God is expecting and even requiring me to do something which I know I can’t do. I feel small, vulnerable and like my very life hangs in the balances.  I cry and wave my hand, in what I fear is vain protest, as my heart sinks and I begin to quake.

But, blessedly, God always wraps his arms around me and whispers words of comfort and assurance to me.  Over and over he tells me the story of his son, and how he came to perfectly do for me what I could never do for myself; and how he took the record of all the scrapes and falls from my failed attempts and made them his own. He tells me that, because of Jesus, I never have to be afraid of whether or not I am going to win or lose a race, because I do not have to race.  The race has been won for me.  The pressure is off.  He teIls me until I believe I am safe and I can relax.

Then he tells me that, because of Jesus, I am now free to learn how to run, dance, and even skate, gleefully, without fear of failure or condemnation.  I can do those things for the pure joy of them, as acts of exuberant worship and gratitude for the freedom and love given to me; and I can invite others to join me in the celebration.

Let’s go skating!

Love Always,

Bonnie