Wednesday, August 7, 2013

mercy.

There is an old factory by my house. I thought it was abandoned long ago, but yesterday I spotted a man sitting by a window eating out of his lunchbox. There was another man on a bucket by the backdoor holding a sandwich. Something is happening in there. Every day. I studied the paint and brick chipping away around them. I wondered about the things they create and craft - the things they have to show for this one wild and precious life.

Still waiting at the red light, I looked around at the contents of my car. Jasper's dirty socks from months ago and a paper shell he decorated with glitter at daycare. Crumbs from cheese crackers and empty bottles of water. A hymnal. A home communion case. A heavy catalog of statuary and altar cloths. A list of home visits and pastoral calls to make. A make up bag. A pile of gym clothes with poor self-esteem, bitter and ignored, covered in reusable grocery bags and receipts.

The light turned green and I watched the man on the bucket put the last bite of sandwich in his mouth. His hand held his back for a moment, stretching and cracking and creaking a bit before straightening out again and disappearing into the dark hallway. He would use the next few hours to make and mold, to collaborate and build for the sake of many. And watching him was like seeing and feeling Mercy.

God, you call us to do good and hard things. In doing these things, we break and bend. Life gets messy and we create things seen and unseen. Weave our work together with your will so that there is holy purpose and mercy in our midst. Get tangled up in all our vocations, all our places, and all our dreams. And when bricks crumble and crumbs build up, give us the green light to keep going somewhere we can be of good use. Amen.

1 comment:

val said...

So true and lovely. xo, Val