The "Usual Graces"

“I hate it when you get so good at something, you aren't praised for it anymore.”  

Said my younger brother, referring to Ultimate Frisbee, but referencing deeper emotions. 

We have a desire, a need even, to be encouraged in the day-to-day practices, the mundane virtues so common and ubiquitous they cease to be recognized and applauded.

It’s true.

Every day, moments and interactions between siblings, friends, parents, are rich with these “usual graces.” So we cease to praise, taking them as given.  And then something upsets our acceptance of the norm, like the Isis mass-murders in Iraq.  We cringe at the horror and evil, something so obviously wrong.  Consider this an opportunity to clear our heads of blindly overlooking the daily miracles of patience, kindness, compassion, and sharing, and instead praise them for the windows of grace they are.

How would it be if we encouraged each other daily, in the "usual" virtues?  If I commended my eight-year old brother for patiently listening to his father’s instruction?  If I blessed my younger sister each time she responds in sensitivity and empathy to her mother's wishes? If I thanked my workout partner for sharing when I forget water? If I silently prayed encouragement to myself, when I respond graciously to someone blatantly disagreeable?  These usual graces deserve as much praise and encouragement as “big” ones.  The husband who stays faithful to his wife for thirty years deserves equal applause as the recently-converted alcoholic who’s stayed sober for three weeks.  We expect greatness from each other, every day, but do not empower each other near as often as we should.

My brother Jesse could cease investing in Ultimate Frisbee abilities if he senses no one appreciates them anymore.  Micah could stop listening patiently if he feels it is no longer seen as a gift.  Elisha might stop hugging me in the morning, if I don’t tenderly return the gesture.

Encourage one another in the small graces—they are from where greater goodness flows.  Those who have moved mountains, accomplished great things, grew from encouragement in the little virtues.  The mother who remains calm when her teenager yells in her face is empowered by the consistent encouragements along the way, for each act of patience with her child.

It may be expected, but that does not mean it should cease to be recognized and thanked.  I need empowerment and support to run a marathon, but I also need praise from the sidelines during each arduous and mundane pushup and crunch along the way.

We are made of the small graces; our greatness is fashioned from these glimpses of faith, of love.  Our nitpickiness in the small things, like frustration when clothing is dried on the wrong setting, or green leaf instead of romaine lettuce is bought, reveals our ability to notice details of action.

So thank your sibling for listening to your long story that eventually had a point, thank your father for checking-in on your job progress, your mother for making coffee.  See more of the small graces.  When we start to accept goodness as the norm, we cease to praise it.

It’s hard to be patient, to be steadfast, to be faithful, to be loving.  Even the stars of grace, the best players on the field, need encouragement to continue performing.  To continue improving.  Every catch that Jesse makes is as viable and crucial to his and his team’s success as the impressive layout he makes minutes before end-game.  Without praise for the small graces, we are disheartened, and tempted to cease.  

The usual graces appear everywhere, peppered in our conversations and interactions.  Praising them, both in yourself and others, encourages the continuance of a practice upon which the entirety of godliness is built.  Faithful in the small, faithful in the large.  (Luke 16:10).

Then and Now: Building Blocks and Laundry Soap

                        On my way to bed I navigate building blocks of various sizes and shapes, an enormous cardboard box that is actually a fort, a spread of wrapping paper scraps and cardboard tubes, climb sturdy pine steps to the attic, and crawl into a king size bed covered in quilts that almost swallow me at night. Man, it’s good to be home. 

                         It’s curious how time has a way of changing irritants into lovely sentimentalities. The way the bottom half of our Christmas tree is more heavily laden with ornaments from little brother’s decorating jobs would once evoke a perfectionist mentality in me, driving me to rearrange the adornments into an even arrangement. Now I smile across our living room, remarking how the décor steadily gains in height as my brothers grow. As a teenager living in my parent’s household, I would grumble at the prospect of doing laundry. Now I satisfactorily fold towels and dishrags, push buttons here and toss a scoop of soap in there, knowing how consistently hard my mother works and relating to the relief of knowing there is one less thing on the to-do list. I head down to the basement and instruct the youngest boy “this is your last game on the Wii,” and he frustratingly stomps up the steps five minutes later. Within a half an hour his exasperated and pouting demeanor has been exchanged for a motivated joy, as we chop and prepare apples, discussing the many baking options for our newly readied ingredient. Even short amounts of time can have transformative powers. 

                      I am currently thick in the middle of multiple challenges and stresses in my life, ones that often feel overwhelmingly large and unconquerable. A heart that feels fragile and walled off; yet constantly having its wounds re-opened by memories and places. Health issues that remain unanswered; numerous doctors and needles. Workplace relationships that are sticky and complicated; some are delicate, and some require concerted effort to effectively communicate uninterest. Sixteen credits next semester, and I recently took on a third job peer tutoring in MSU’s writing center. My relationships with my roommates, my desire to regularly integrate exercise into my routine, my black lab that constantly desires my attention and affection… These must all be balanced, while simultaneously avoiding making string cheese my only meals. In the midst of the looming trees, I easily lose sight of the grander forest. 

                     Being home reminds me of how frustrations, stresses, and burdens can evolve into joyful memories, reminders of grace, and thankfulness. “Tika tika,” a friend told me recently, which is Maori (I believe) for “little by little.” It’s been my silent reminder, whispered to myself in the mist of struggle. All bad things will come to an end. Little by little, with grace, faith, and courage, I must persist through. I believe that what seems to be overwhelming and enveloping stress and challenge will eventually be transformed into character through time, shaped by the Authour. So as I dodge legos on the floor, make effort not to collapse a block castle, and find my towel damp from recent use (that was not mine), I find the joy in the reminder of the healing and changing capacities of time. 

~Anjeli