Boundless Grace

So I haven't written anything in awhile. I've been too busy updating everyone else's blogs. I'm not complaining. I've been blessed with more work than I can handle. I'm supporting my family by writing. I could do worse. I have a hard time with being grateful. I'm never grateful for anything. I'm learning to give credit where credit is due, and no one I know deserves any credit for anything. God has been so gracious to me, and he has proved it over and over again.

For instance, two weeks ago before my wife and I left San Francisco (yes, I moved again. What a surprise! We lived in SF, and moved PDX a few weeks ago) I got on the wrong bus out of San Francisco's Portola District, and oddly so did two policeman. I'm riding this bus into what was quite possible the worst 'hood I'd ever stepped foot in, and the bus drives to the end of this completely fucked-up neighborhood, turns off the engine and shouts "End of the line." Me and the two cops look at each other not knowing how, or why we got in this bus. I step off of the bus platform, and the two cops follow closely behind.

As I'm walking through this really, really rundown area, the thought occurs to me that this is a very, very bad situation. I see windows with bars on them, which is not an uncommon thing in San Francisco, but they are bent to hell. Bullet holes in almost every window, and shattered glass everywhere. I see kids running around with no shoes on yelling "Po Po Alert! Po Po Alert" every five seconds. I slow a bit, and I turn around and ask the cops where the nearest bus stop is. They tell me that they'll walk with me. They tell me they've shared nearly 80 bullets between the two of them in this little neighborhood alone. They also tell me that all of those bullets made their ghastly appearance in broad daylight. As I'm hanging with them we talk about where we're from. I tell them I moved to SF from Seattle. We talk about how the commonality of shitty sports teams in SF and Seattle. We talk about coffee, rain, cigarettes, microbrews and the infestation of strip clubs in SF's chinatown. They also tell me that they accidentally got on the wrong bus, and that they had no idea why they followed me out here. They both shake their heads in annoyance and disbelief. Then we part ways at the "safe" bus stop. I thank them, and the go on their merry ass-kicking, gun-slingin way.

After the cops leave, I start to shake a little bit. I become overwhelmed by this feeling of fear, gratitude and this newfound safety. It was otherworldly. It became clear in that moment that Jesus "had" me. He brought me to a place where I could have lost my life to show my the boundless length of his mercy. I could have went there alone and got served up a heavy dose of baseball bat economics, or worse, I could have been killed. These cops who work in this neighborhood reminded me over and over how "lucky" I was.

Here's the thing, I'm not lucky. I repetitively get into the shittiest situations imaginable, and God pulls me out of them to demonstrate His grace to bring me to repentance. I eventually acknowledged that from time to time, even if I was forced to acknowledge it. But this, this was Jesus in pursuit. This was God saying, "I'm going to show you how much I love you, even though you will probably tell Me to fuck-off when you go home and snap at your wife for asking a simple question." This was the Holy Spirit calling me out, "Stop your bullshit, NOW!!!"

I'm still in shock. I'm still trying to humbly just keep my middle finger in my pocket. I'm praying that all my middle finger's will snap under the weight of His boundless grace.