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 rain, darkness, 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 cars through those curves at 70 mph mere 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 everything is all lurching and white knuckles. You somehow get through it and hopefully nobody died.
That’s what it’s like to mix outside your comfortable 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 the Weekend of Grace.