How do you rate, as a human being?
Quick, give yourself a score on a scale that holds 1 as a contemptible pile of don’t-say-that-in-front-of-your-kid and 100 being perfectly perfect in every way. What’s your number?
Now, consider that space between you and perfection… That’s where Grace resides. It is that space between that allows me, a self-rated 37, to be able to talk with, hear from, and praise perfection. Simply put, no matter how low or high my score might be at any given moment, God will love me anyway. Not because of anything I did or didn’t do, but because God is just like that.
It is so easy to be lured into watching the gifts of others put to use, and tell myself, “Well, there’s no use doing that… seems like that gift is already covered.” No, the gift of THAT person is covered. What about mine? And yours?
I’ve spent the last week with doctors, nurses and specialist after specialist. After I’d been waiting for forty five minutes in a freezing office, half clothed, my doctor of the moment walked in and said, “Hello, Michelle. I’m Doctor Roberts.” He looked me up and down, as I suppose he should, and asked me to open my gown. No smile, no handshake, no explanation for my uncomfortable wait, other than he could and he’s the doctor, and doctors are very busy guys.
So I asked him gown still in place, “What’s your first name?”
“I much prefer to be called Dr. Roberts.” Was his reply.
“Alright. That’s fair, but I want to know who you might be. Especially seeing as how you’re calling me by my first name and all. What if I prefer to be addressed by my title?”
I know, a little cranky, but I’d been sick for days with no answers, and didn’t feel like playing games. Grace makes us even in the eyes of God. No matter if I completed medical school or not.
He slowed his approach and said, “You’re right. I’m sorry. My first name is Robert. But I’m tired, and I didn’t work my way through medical school so that people can joke about my redundant name.”
“Yeah. Well, I didn’t get sick to joke about your name, either. You’re busy, and smarter than me. Got it. It is my sincere hope that you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. I figure, the smarter you are, the better off I am.” He laughed a little, and we got down to business as two human beings; flawed and perfect at the same time.
He ended up writing a prescription and before he left said, “Hope you feel better, Michelle.”
To which I replied, “Thanks Dr. Roberts, hope your day gets easier.”
He smiled, and before he shut the door said, “Just call me Bob.”
This interaction reminded me that each of us was built for amazing things. Everyone has inherent gifts that are only ours, and we are responsible for putting those gifts to good use. Sometimes we wait for permission from another human being to do what we were created for, when we were already born with the permission we need. Your gift belongs to you, and if you don’t use it, no one will.
The only means by which we can achieve the dreams that were planted in our hearts before we were born is to practice, practice, and then pray. In reaching higher than our hearts alone can hope, we have achieved a state of Grace. Amazing.