Post Script | August 22, 2022
Grace for your imperfect decisions
On our second week at our new church here in Cincinnati, we sat behind a friendly middle-aged couple. When they turned around to chat during the passing of the peace, we discovered quite a few things held in common, including that their children attended the Christian high school our boys would be attending this year. It’s a wonderful school, they crooned.
The school was one of the primary reasons we chose to live in Cincinnati rather than Columbus, where my mother had been living until the death of her husband in May. We understood that while our return to the States was necessary to provide the practical support she needed, we also wanted to consider the flourishing of our two boys remaining at home.
But here is an obvious fact about decisions: there are no perfect ones. This certainly seems true of the many, many decisions we’ve made in order to uproot and replant our family. We don’t doubt the school we’ve chosen for our boys—but some days we do doubt our decision to buy a house 25 minutes away from the school. We had reasons for that decision at the time: after eleven years in Toronto, we wanted to live in the city rather than the suburbs. And because both Ryan and I work from home, we reasoned that between the two of us, we could make the commute. What’s more, our boys are only a year and a half away from getting their drivers’ licenses.
There were reasons we chose to live where we did, and with so little real estate supply last spring, it wasn’t as if we had a plethora of options. But this isn’t to say that self-doubt isn’t real, even for the most well-reasoned, prayed-over decisions. Did we choose what was right? Did we make a mistake?
Those are questions I sometimes ask myself as we burn gas and time, driving back and forth to the school. But let me tell you something about the love of God, even as we muddle through life on this earth. He is never constrained by our decisions. In fact, perfect decisions, if such a thing were possible, might lull us into thinking that we had sufficient wisdom. Imperfect decisions on the other hand, which is to say human decisions, allow for the possibility of grace, this thing that always reminds of how freely, how extravagantly God loves.
“We live five minutes from the school,” my new friend, Jana, says on the morning I meet her and her husband at church as the peace is passed. She insists I take her number and consider their home our boys’ home-away-from home. Of course, it feels like far too extravagant an offer. How would I repay?
But this is the point, right? Grace isn’t earned, and it’s never repaid. It’s received when you’re needy. So last Thursday, I let Jana make two trips to the school: to pick one son up at 3, return him at 5, pick up the second son who’s just finished practice, then keep him until his brother has finished practice at 7. When I arrive just before 7, my son is petting their 13-year-old King Charles spaniel, Cedric. Jana and her husband walk us to the door and talk about the plates they know I’m spinning in this season, how they’re happy to serve in this way.
I don’t know what to say. Thank you? That won’t do at all—but I say it anyways. I allow myself to admit I’m in a needy season, that I will happily receive the help others offer. I receive their kindness as from another source.
Last week, I initially forgot to turn on the comments for your suggestions on the rule of life resources I’m trying to create this fall. So sorry for that! Just another indication that I’m in a needy season and doing well to even get these letters out! But if you wanted to re-read that letter and comment, you’ll can do so now because I’ve managed to fix it.
I’m looking forward to working on offering you rule of life resources. As you think about your fall—your intentions and desires for the time ahead—perhaps your first step is naming your season. Maybe yours, like mine, is a needy season. You’re stretched by the obligations to care for young children or aging parents. You’re finishing an intensive graduate program or starting a new job. Your family is in crisis. If you’re in a needy season, you might structure your time differently and hold gentler expectations of yourself. Or maybe you’re in a season of newfound freedom. Your kids are all in school. You’ve reduced your workload. Other responsibilities have lightened, and you’ve got a bit more time. Where might desire, opportunity, and risk lead? How can you befriend the pause between what was and what is, seeking to discern what God invites you into now?
Wherever you find yourself today, I hope you’ll remember something true about God. God is always going before us. This was true for the Israelites. “God went before [them] on the way to seek out [for them] a place to pitch [their] tents, in fire by night and in the clouds by day, to show them by what way [they] should go,” (Deut. 1:33).
Yours,
Jen