Swimming in a river of grace

A long, long overdue conversation with my best friend, my "heart's twin," meandered down the roads of shared memories recently, and visited future hopes and praises and prayers for those we love together and those we love independently of one another.

Once upon a time, we spent every weekday in the same two-person office, with common work goals in front of us, and a kindred spirit between us, so these conversations now become another treasured memory to add to precious memories of those days long gone.

We caught up on (nearly) all of the old news: son Kellen is doing well with home-schooling; husband Jay is getting in as many hours as the company will allow in these tough economic times, with God meeting every need as it presents itself; Jay's dad lost his home to a fire this winter, but has been taken in by a neighbor and that situation sorts itself out, day-by-day. You know, the usual stuff.

But as is also common when we visit, we traveled new roads together and I got a glimpse of Joanie as a child, holding a large, ornate jar of (she said cheap, let's say inexpensive) perfume she had received as a gift, up to her mother.

Although time has erased the specific circumstance and her specific age at the time, she well remembers telling her mom, "Mommy, I want to save this beautiful jar of perfume so that when Jesus comes, I can anoint him."

Applying deductive reasoning, we surmised she must have just read or heard about the woman with the alabaster jar filled with precious ointment in Scripture and with the love of a child, she too wanted to bless the One who had blessed her. Her mom, Genevieve, wisdom personified, simply accepted her offering, and said, "We'll put it right here, so you'll know where it is when it's time," placing the jar on a shelf in a built-in hutch in their South Denver home.

Who knows how long that bottle of perfume sat there, waiting? I suppose if Genevieve could be asked, she could say. I suspect it was there at least until Joanie left for college, becoming not just another pretty to be dusted, but a memory that comforted Genevieve, her nest newly empty. Neither Joanie's desire nor Genevieve's wise response surprised me. I am all too familiar with their shared desire.

Several years ago, I was growing my hair out as a remembrance for my mom, with the intention to have it long enough by the time I turned 50 to have enough cut off to donate it to Locks of Love in her memory. I chose 50 for two reasons. Number one, it is the rare woman who can wear long hair and look good after 50 and I must confess to a small measure of vanity; and number two, my mom died of breast cancer just a few days shy of her 50th birthday.

While my hair grew out, longer than I ever expected it to in the time alloted, I would brush it out, and pull it forward, checking the length. I kind of figured, if I died before my 50th birthday, at least my hair would be long enough to wipe my tears from Jesus' feet, because in my heart, in my spirit, that is precisely where I am when I finally see him face-to-face.

I cannot read that passage of Scripture without tears, for I know I too have been forgiven much, and it will take all of eternity for me to express the depth of gratitude within me for the awesome grace I swim in today, because of what Jesus did.

Maybe I should grow my hair out again.

"Now one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, so he went to the Pharisee's house and reclined at the table. When a woman who had lived a sinful life in that town learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee's house, she brought an alabaster jar of perfume, and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them." Luke 7:36-38 (NIV)