we are the rebels.

Dear friend,

There have been a lot of things changing and shifting lately, but I want to tell you about a puzzle-piece moment from this past week.

My grandparents are visiting from out of town.

They are my family's road map-- years of history about who we are and where we've come from and how we got here.  Their don't-rush-life rhythm reminds me to take things slow and let myself off the hook every once in awhile.  In their rare visits, they always bring this sort-of magic with them...this inexpressible magic of living life at peace.

We aren't the most peaceful people, though.

My family is not without their set of faults, as most aren't.  Maybe you have one of those families.

I think it's funny that out of everything, we don't get to choose our families.  We can't control them, just as much as we can't control choosing to be born or choosing to die.  We are given people and time, and it's up to us how we respond to them...with impatience at their imperfections, or with grace because they're ours, too.

All of this to say-- we're given flawed people, and we're flawed people ourselves.  That's what I was thinking about as we sat down for a family dinner a few nights ago, the whole clan.  My grandparents strongly believe in God, but they haven't always.  Just like my parents haven't always, and my aunts and uncles haven't always and some still don't.  But almost all of my family believes in God now, and I was thinking about how much of a miracle that is.

We aren't the most peaceful people, though.

My grandpa will tell you about how he used to live, humbly and honestly.  So will my grandma.  So will I.  We could fill a book with mistake stories and flaws and flat out sin.  We are not the "most-likely-to-become-Christians" sort of people; in fact, we're probably the furthest from it.  As we sat around the table, I took in all of us--ex-addicts, ex-alcoholics, ex-liars, ex-striving-to-be-good-enoughs, ex-everything.

We are the rebels and

we are the flawed and

yet every single day

we are being made new.

Even though there are decades and years between us, my family is a living testament that grace still makes beauty out of ugly things.

And the magic that my grandparents bring with them isn't a peace that comes from being perfect--it's a peace comes from knowing the feeling of being so flawed and yet being made whole.  And that's something we share, besides DNA, besides flaws, besides wild hair.

Grace.  We share grace.