There’s a stretch of I-90 that weaves through Gary, IN, like a luge. Two lanes, tight curves, concrete barriers, and changing pavement levels. Toss in some darkness, rain, and steel mill stacks blowing orange flame and you’re running an Xtreme Sporting Event.
Veteran commuters do it in their sleep. They toss their Honda Accords through those curves at 70 mph just inches from trailer trucks, barricades, and the car in front.
But try it some morning in a four-ton Ford Excursion. Whoa! That’s like driving a blimp. Suddenly it’s all lurching and white knuckles. You focus forward and hope to get through it.
That’s what it’s like to mix outside your own social circles. Throw a fifty-year-old into a cluster of freshmen and watch him sweat. Or, make a sophomore listen to a clumsy adult monolog and it’s like throwing the communication circuit breaker. All systems down.
Which is why we need grace. We’re all trying, and we all love each other. Grace is the padding that says, “It’s OK. I like that you care and I think you’re great.”
There’s a new weekend coming. Let it be a weekend of grace.