A crystal champagne glass shatters into a tiny thousand shards across the hard wood floor. Their slivers reflect light throughout the room into a perfect prism, and a $300 glass lays bent and broken in the kitchen.
This kitchen where little hands have made Christmas cookies, painted easter eggs, dad has waited up for first dates and mom has sat on the stools listening to me cry over broken hearts and bombed tests.
We order pizza and the pizza man gives us an extra one. Last week someone gave my brother a washer and dryer. Just outright gifted it to him. When our hearts might be empty they are not, we have been given more than we could ever possibly need and expectations have passed far beyond what we dared hope. We don’t need the extra pizza and when I return an hour later the toppings have been stripped and the crust remains raw, unappetizing and ugly. Recklessly destroyed, and gnarly exposed.
My birthday comes and goes and just when I begin to wake to a dream that I have found more than enough, my mom plans a surprise party for me from her hospital bed. I walk into my home and friends burst out from behind couches and corners and our community has gathered together yet again, and I feel so celebrated. Moms & dads, aunts, uncles, cousins, sisters and brothers, friends all welcome me and I cherish each of them who would take time for me.
Sometimes we eat Christmas cookies for dinner, this year our tree never got decorated, and sometimes we’re all so forgetful that we have to go to the grocery store 3 times in one day.
Sometimes, we just start talking; at the nail salon, down the aisles of the grocery store, in a pub, to strangers we hardly know, tears rolling out of our eyes, dripping this story, praying that maybe we might leak a little bit of Jesus from our lives into someone else’s. With no previous intention it just sort of slips out, this story of how our lives have been wrecked. Wrecked for something more than ourselves. And how could it not? I try to force my jaw closed and maintain my security, but why when I could sing of his praise? And when hearts doubt, and fear takes grip, lips move to form the word ‘faithfulness’.
Stories of faithfulness, trials and triumph, and of a God who never once ceases to provide on a daily, hourly basis.
Stories of a God who is reckless. He can’t be contained in a Psalm or a Proverb or even in the chance of a miracle. Can’t we all live reckless? Wrecked & reckless, couldn’t we all drop a champagne glass or wrap our car around a pole at Bread and Company and carry on unhindered with our lives? And laugh at the amount leverage we lend these circumstances to our day. Couldn’t we say the unspoken and love the unlovable and do what feels impossible. Do we dare live un-teathered to our earthly possessions and grab hold of something escapes physical grasp?
Could we walk in redemption and confidence that someone holds our plans, instead of trying to control the glittering crystal flying through the air or make enough lists to distribute the minutes of the not enough hours in our days? Rest in the truth that we will never be enough, because we are always flawed.
And when we are always flawed, God is always good. Not good enough, he is good, that kind of good.
Live free and shout, and use too many exclamations to wildly, unashamedly let this God be known to everyone else. Could we utter his kindness when our minds say to wait, wait until it is socially acceptable, until we know them better, until we have something meaningful to say.
We could freefall into the unknown resting assured that He catches us in the end, so why does it matter what the flight looks like? That almost makes me want to go skydiving.
Reckless: marked by lack of proper caution, irresponsible.
There’s no reason to steer through these shards of a crystal champagne glass on the floor, if a scanty piece is going to get lodged in your foot, it just is. There’s no reason to delicately handle these things as invaluable things, because they are valued, at an earthly price. Our very lives, are valued at a price, at so high a price that a sinless Saviour incomprehensibly paid. And daily, we forget. Because truly the only thing invaluable is Christ, and to share in the power of His resurrection, and joy of His salvation. We can’t weave in and out of this battle ground, avoiding this person and that, this illness, this failure, situation, shortcoming, fearing all that may come. We must learn to dance fleetingly and gracefully above the fragmented crystal. To dance as citizens of heaven, instead of prisoners of the earth. This comfortable green and blue globe we call home, is not our sphere of security, yet we allow it to define our actions, and control our beings. And in step with ours Jesus guides us.
May 2013 be a year of reckless whimsy, (as our friend Bob Goff would say), and may you count all the graces in your days and dance to a heavenly song.
The best is always yet to come.
(Ps. I’m going back to Uganda. It requires me taking 18 hours & two extra clinicals this semester, but there’s grace for that too.)