Space.

Too much. Too loud. Too vocal.  Drawing attention.  Advocating loudly.  Never satisfied.

In the space of a few weeks, these words became loud in my mind.  Back to school meant lots of conversations, text, and e-mails.  Needs.  Disagreeing with people, and working really hard to come across diplomatically.  My mind bent over gasping for air while trying not to throw up.  Not because it was bad.  Or, received poorly.  But, because advocating is hard. And, scary.  Necessary.  While invoking fears that if things are pushed too hard, too loudly, or we just take up too much space, my children could suffer the repercussions.  Part of me wants to apologize for speaking up at all.  Making waves.  I can feel it.  It's too much space out of a whole lot of kids with needs.  We're not staying in our area. 

A trip to the park buzzing over the excitement of a new swing.  One I can roll a wheelchair up on, and watch her lean back and smile in the breeze.  I pull up, and immediately feel all the blood rush to my face.  They've built a swing. A whole separate area for kids with disabilities.  I can't believe it.  How did this happen?  So I speak up.  I arrange meeting and have hard conversations.  I listen, and try to understand.  I tell them what I want, knowing the cost is astronomical in a Midwestern city that has lost its' factories and is struggling to survive. And, I know, I'm taking up too much space in the financial agenda of a city. 

We're out.  Little is excited.  She makes her noises.  Grunty and screechy.  Over and over.  It's loud.  People move away or stare.  They don't know how to respond to it.  She's just communicating.  We're used to it.  But, all of a sudden, I know.  Too much space.  We are occupying more than our share of the noise level. 

Sunday morning.  Front row during worship because that's where little wants to be.  She can see all the instruments.  The singers.  There's room to dance.  And, a few times, she makes her way on stage and just sits there, watching everyone, dancing, and sometimes even singing.  I breathe deep and purposeful to slow my heart, thankful I can't see anyone behind me.  She darts quickly to make an attempt at grabbing the guitar, and I sprint on stage and grab her.  This sort of thing repeats a few times, amidst her other antics of trying to get me to hang her upside down, do flips, and use me as a jungle gym.  I can feel it.  Sweat is starting to pour out of me.  We're taking up more than our share of space.  Drawing attention away from the things people want to be focusing on.

I drop little off at Sunday school, and slink into the back of the church.  The weight of the past week of advocating, and feeling too much settles in.  I'm self conscious from the worship time, and uncertain whether bringing her in for it, no matter how much she begs, is truly the right thing to do.  Our pastor stands up, talks a little about the set up of Sunday school, who goes where, when.  And, out loud, in front of everyone, welcomes my daughter by name to be part of worship as she sees fit. 

The tears are no longer staying just behind the surface. They spill out onto my cheeks.  I'm reminded how long it took for people like little to be allowed any space in society at all.  Their space used to be one that hid them away.  Gave them less area than was theirs.  Took a family, an education, self worth, outdoors, human interaction, dignity, and at times, their lives.

It's okay for her to take up more space now.  To grab back what was denied so many before her.  To loudly declare that she is alive, and has worth.  This is her time.  Her place.  And, we will be here, taking up more than our share of space.

grace.

i go through these periods where i become sort of stuck on one idea or concept.  what does that really mean?  what does that look like when done right?  right now, it's the idea of what grace really is: especially in relation to who God is, and how He offers grace to all of us.
so i've been reading, and just reminding myself over and over all day, for me, for abigail, for jason, for the strangers who say things to me that make me want to lose my mind:  grace.  grace.
i don't believe that grace means that disobedience gets a free pass.  instead, i think that when my big gets in trouble, and has to sit out playing with friends, i can hold her and tell her i'm sad, too, that she doesn't get to play.
and grace doesn't mean that when i lose my temper with abigail i don't need to try to reconcile with her. i need to apologize.  and then i need to forgive myself and move on.  because dwelling on my mistakes is not grace.
in reading lots of verses on grace the one that stuck out to me is 'when sin increased, grace increased all the more' (Romans 5:20).  i've been thinking through this and what it means.  and i quickly looked around at the church body i belong to, and felt it.
i love my church. it is full of a very diverse group of people sunday morning.  black and white.  young and old.  recovering addicts, people with histories of felonies, middle class, upper class, and the not so middle or upper class.  but, the thing i love the most, is that every person there seems to outwardly live their own mess.  i'm not talking about walking around bragging about the things we do that we shouldn't.  i'm talking about people who know each others struggles.  people who are honest and say, 'i've started drinking again, and got pulled over for a dui.  i need some prayer.  some love.  some help.'
but, the biggest, and greatest thing about our church is that with every ounce of my being, i can feel the grace. i think the 'sin abounding' thing isn't meant to be taken as increasing your sin.  i think, as i look around, the places where grace abounds more, are those places that are full of real people. honest about sin.  spilling it out abundantly.
and when i am in a place where grace abounds, it is like a fog that rolls in and out, around and through, taking with it the sin part and leaving behind only the grace.  the sun shining down burning off the sin making grace glitter and illuminate on each person-like the dew that's left on the grass after a fog.
i just have to take my shoes off and walk around on it.  to feel it.  i have to bend down and look closely at the way the light reflects off of each drop.  and i have to try to take pictures of it, zoomed way in, as to show every detail.  to know, for myself, that the beauty i'm experiencing is real.  is there anything, so marvelous, so remarkable as grace.
as i've searched, and searched, i've read through story after story that tries hard to explain grace.  but, alas, they do it know justice.  because the moment i think i might know it, something bigger and more beautiful takes place.  and i have to continue to search, and pursue.  hoping my journey leaves those around me being touched by the overflow of grace i'm discovering.

for from His fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.   John 1:16