Robin Jones Gunn - Victim of Grace: When Gods Goodness Prevails

The L ORD will fulfill his purpose for me.

P SALM 138:8 ESV

On a quiet summer afternoon, I handed my friend Steph a glass of iced tea and offered a sympathetic smile before taking a seat beside her on the white wicker patio chair. A rousing Maui trade wind skimmed over us and rustled the outstretched limbs of our backyard plumeria tree. A single flower on the highest branch surrendered to the tug of the unseen breeze. Nudged by another breath, the flower fluttered to the ground with airy elegance.

Waiting is the hardest part, Steph said. Its been eleven days and still no word. Im stuck. I dont know if we should plan a move back to the mainland or if I should start buying school supplies since classes here start next week.

I didnt know what to tell her. Id been in similar situations more than once in my life and I felt her frustration. No winning words of encouragement came to me.

Its beginning to feel like a test, she said. As if God wants to see if I completely trust him no matter what. I wish he would tell me the answer but

I finished the sentence for her with a line that was familiar to both of us. But the teacher is always silent during the test.

Exactly.

I released the thin pineapple wedge that balanced on the side of my glass and watched it float between the ice cubes. Im really sorry youre going through this, Steph.

Thanks. I guess thats why I came over. I needed the tea and sympathy.

I smiled and noticed another plumeria flower being tugged from the tree by invisible fingers that sent it into a free fall. The fragrant offering landed softly on the grass. Later that afternoon, I would collect the scattered beauties and string them together to make a unique gift, a homemade lei to welcome someone special who was arriving on the island at sunset.

Youre in a free fall, arent you? I suggested.

Is that what it is? I was thinking it feels more like Im a victim.

A victim?

Yes. A victim of all the uncomfortable circumstances going on. I have no control over whats happening. Everyone else seems to be making the decisions about our future. She leaned back and gave a sigh. I know God is in control. But I still feel like a victim.

We sat together in silence for a moment. I leaned closer. May I tell you a story? A true story?

Steph knows me well, so my question made her grin. Its what you do, she said. Yes. Please. Tell me a story.

Between here and heaven, every minute that the Christian lives will be a minute of grace.

Charles Spurgeon

Two days after our sons thirteenth birthday, I walked into a building in downtown Portland in broad daylight. I was taken into a back room where all my clothes were removed. A man wearing a mask knocked me out. While I was unconscious, another masked man thrust a knife into my abdomen. Twice.

Stephs jaw went slack.

When I finally came to, I was in a hospital bed with dozens of sutures holding my midriff together. I had done nothing to deserve what happened to me.

I never heard this before! I cant believe it. Why would anyone do that to you?

I tried to keep my expression steady as I gave her the bigger picture of the traumatic experience. The building I walked into was a hospital. Providence Medical Center, to be exact. The man who rendered me unconscious was an anesthesiologist.

What?

The masked man with the knife was a surgeon. He removed several diseased masses and repaired my bile duct. I have a nine-inch scar right here. I traced a diagonal line across my torso. And another six-inch scar here.

Steph narrowed her eyes. She looked like she might throw something at me. Why didnt you just say you had your gallbladder removed?

I laughed. Because the experience sounds so different when you dont know the final outcome ahead of time. Thats what youre going through right now; lots of painful steps without knowing the final punch line. When I only told you the painful facts of my experience, it seemed as though I were a victim of an act of violence.

It certainly did. But, obviously, the big picture is that the surgery was for your good. Youre still alive.

Yes, I am. I drew my shoulders back and smiled. Im still here, twenty years later. So, I guess you could say that its true: I was a victim. I was a victim of grace.

Steph put her glass of plantation tea on the end table. Our voices lowered as we talked about the mysterious ways of God, his timing, and the challenge of seeing more than just the circumstances in our life experiences. We reminded each other of times in our lives when God accomplished his purposes in us and through us even though we couldnt see the big picture and didnt understand the difficult things we were going through.

As Steph stood to leave, she said, I wish more people would tell the uncomfortable parts of their story instead of just the punch line. We need to know were not alone in the process, especially when its painful.

We walked together to her car, gave each other a hug, and I returned to the backyard where I went about gathering plumerias, selecting just the right ones for the lei. I thought of how the lovely flowers had ended up on the grass after their free fall. All that beauty scattered at my feet, ready to be collected. Before me were dozens of delicate, uncomplaining victims of the unseen hand that had plucked them from the tree.

As I strung the flowers on the long lei needle, Stephs earlier comment about how we need to know were not alone echoed in my thoughts. She had said she wished more people would tell the uncomfortable parts of their stories. We need to see the big picture and not just the punch line.

It occurred to me that that was what God did when he recorded the true tales of many of the women in the Bible. He didnt airbrush their lives or make excuses for their choices. He showed them as they were. Real. Human. Flawed. And also deeply loved by the One who fashioned them by hand and knew them by heart. Their stories are scattered throughout Scripture, ready to be gathered up. I wondered how many of them could see the big picture when they were in the midst of their own difficult experience.

The scent of afternoon rain breezed my way. I could smell the rain before I could see the misty drops. As I watched, the fluid grace gently covered, nourished, cleansed, and restored everything within view.

My thoughts ran to a deep place. I considered how there is nothing I can do, nothing to make the rain fall or the wind blow. Unprovoked by any act on my part, God gives me breath. He opens his hand and gives and gives and gives. I dont control his faithfulness. I dont initiate his mercy. I can do nothing to earn his kindness. I dont deserve his gifts.