“Nobody tells you when you get born here how much you’ll come to love it but how you’ll never belong here.”--Rich Mullins Because I’m a part of the human experiment, I play songs in the fall and pretend that my life is important enough to warrant a sound track. I think that it’s typical for some. For me, sometimes it’s Land of My Sojourn, sometimes it's Jesus Christ.*
The other day I was with a friend, a good man, starched shirt and all. He was driving our afternoon coffee break and as we talked about nothing in particular I noticed his head swerving left to right. He shrugged it off as nothing until I asked, “you’ve picked out some bug guts on the windshield and you’re pretending to dodge them in and out of the broken lines on the road, huh?” He sputtered before fessing up, trying to retain some modicum of thirty-five year dignity. Suffer the children and all; it’s what we do.
I don’t do reciprocity well unless, of course, it’s eye-for-eye. God made rules about justice because I am manifestly un-so. Grace is as hard to return as it is to bestow, so He told me to leave the gleanings of our fields for the poor. If songs about the gleanings sell well for sub-cultural-gen-y-er record executives, they don’t make for very good personal sound tracks. I need a more self-absorbed score.
Three or four children will contract some form of cancer every year in our community. Our nature demands that we heave relief upon relief when the doctor informs us it’s not our child. And then I forgot to breathe “kingdom comes” over the parents who will not be so lucky. Instead, I sprung for Jude's ice-cream, a reward for being called clean.
It is an awkward place in which my God has chosen to walk with us, with me. But prone to wander, I am grateful.
*If you want to listen to the songs, follow this link to "play all."