Nancy looked at me over her right shoulder as she bent over the sink, pausing in her task of peeling par-boiled tomatoes and cutting them up for salsa, and asked, "Since when does your hobby become my full-time job?" Looking as innocent and confused as possible (actually, a normal state for me most of the time), I responded, "What are you talking about?"
It was then that she turned around, a half cut tomato in one hand and a medium knife in the other, and gave me 'the look'. You know 'the look'. 'The look' is somewhere between amused benevolence and irritated henchman. Nancy looked at me for a full fifteen seconds as though wondering from which parallel universe I had suddenly emerged (and, when you are receiving 'the look', fifteen seconds is a long time during which you know intuitively you are NOT to speak), then she said, "You are the one who loves to garden. You are the one who writes about the garden. You are the one who waters the garden. But, I am the one who has to take everything you bring out of the garden and prepare it for the table, can it or freeze it, so we can have it in the winter. It's just like the two dogs we have. You had to have them and told me how you would take care of them and, now, I'm the one who regularly vacuums the floor." And, there she stopped. She didn't have to say another word. I knew what she was saying, though that isn't exactly the way I perceive such things . . . still, I knew this wasn't the moment to make my case, especially when she suddenly started laughing, and said, "But, that's why I love you!"
Ah, sweet, grace-filled redemption!
'The look' melted away, Nancy turned back towards the sink to continue the process of preparation, and I was left standing, not wanting to leave as I pondered just how much I love this woman with whom I have shared so much over the last 36 years, and not wanting to stay for fear the redemption would be repealed. Uncertain which way to turn, I walked up behind her and gave her a hug, then went on to the job that had beckoned me in the first place.
There is something incredibly sweet, powerfully tender, and amazingly broad and deep about receiving grace undeserved. I knew what Nancy was talking about, yet to acknowledge that would have commensurate with having to say, 'You are absolutely correct and I have been remiss in my duties', which no self-respecting man would ever say, though we know we should. (Just kidding!!) Still, there are times words simply are inadequate. There are times the best thing a man can say, I can say, is nothing, which is why I hugged her. Hugs are the non-verbal way of covering a lot of ground, of receiving and acknowledging grace and forgiveness, of binding over the wounds which are obvious to the world, of moving towards peace and understanding, of expressing a depth of love the rest of the world would never be able to perceive. Hugs are a gift of God and are best served warm and often.
How do I know this? We have all been hugged by God. Not everyone acknowledges it, not everyone knows it, but we have all been hugged by God. The Living Word came silently one night and entered into the milieu of our living, received the incredulity of our gaze, took on the ignorance of our behaviors and, then, impossibly, gathered our pain and hurt into God's own arms and did for us what we could not do for ourselves: God buried the past in the embrace of our future as a stone rolled away from an empty tomb. God hugged us into new life then, and continues to do so each day through Jesus Christ and the Spirit.
Ah, sweet, grace-filled redemption!
I believe this is what heaven must be: Forgiveness we never expected to receive, followed by a hug we never imagined possible. Kind of like the story of the Prodigal Son coming home to his Father. Maybe that is why Jesus told that parable.
Thank you, Nancy, for embodying it for me - and thank you God, for a wife who knows You by name and lives your example each day. May it be so for us all.
