invited
Over coffee, Zoe tells us, lacing her fingers through the mug, how she plans to ask her sister to share a movie night, maybe go get snacks before. Zoe slips out to make her invitation, leaves me smiling the way we mamas do when our children love each other; leaves me thinking about how somewhere deep we all feel skeptical that someone else could truly desire our company. Riley feels this too, especially when it comes to Zoe. Ours is a topsy turvy house where older is sometimes younger and younger is sometimes older, and if anything, Riley’s relational challenges exaggerate these feelings of inadequacy.
Honestly, I’m not so good at making invitations, and especially not now that social distancing has entered into our relationships. I read Acts 2:42, about how the early church “devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer (emphasis mine),” and what challenges me is their intentional striving for community. If fellowship encourages, if it undermines assaults against identity and love and unity, it makes sense that the early church, who met in homes as we do now, was intensely persistent about it.
Through the door, I hear Zoe’s soft, muffled voice, the casual question, “Hey, do you want to?” The rest of the words trail off, too soft for me to hear.
And then Riley’s voice comes, sharp and soaring. “YESSSS!”
It’s a fists-in-the-air, love-just-won yes, or an I-can’t-believe-this-gift yes; an unentitled, grace-receiving yes, more than an oh-okay-sure. I hear Zoe’s still, peaceful sound, her even-toned, if muffled, explanation, and then, “YES, I would love to!! Who’s doing this with us?” Real joy always looks to share with someone else.
I’m a glory hunter: I look for our ever-present Christ in all of our extraordinary ordinary, so this I have to see. Jumping to my feet, I hear the leper’s if you’re willing and see the Savior’s reach; I imagine the bewilderment on all our divinely-touched faces reflected now in Riley’s smile. God has always lifted up the humble. He gave up everything to be with me. To be with you. I walk out into the hall as Zoe says, “Just us,” thinking about how God, who in essence of being is perfect community, who died to give it to us, loves to see his children love each other.
“YESSS!” Riley brings her triumphant arms down, pulling her elbows in toward her chest. If joy has an action, it’s this one; if it has a sound, it’s the rise and fall of that assent, the climb of the ‘E’, the flight of the ‘S.’ “Thank you; thank you; thank you for inviting me,” Riley gushes, parenthetically with yet another, “YES!”
If only I could be so transparent about my feelings.
I glance at Zoe, who often says she feels undeserving of gratitude or praise when her actions reflect what should be common human kindness. Without realizing it, she repeatedly articulates the words Jesus attributes to the servant-hearted, “We are unworthy; we have only done what we should do (Luke 17:10).” So, I say nothing, but I let Zoe see my unguarded reaction, the way my eyes suddenly flood with tears. What I’m witnessing doesn’t look common to me at all. It looks glorious. But then, in the Kingdom of Christ, glory is every day currency.
Wordless astonishment passes between Zoe and me; neither of us fully understood how much Riley needed this, and the rush of Riley’s exuberance moves us with compassion. When the gospels say that Jesus was “moved with compassion” the word literally means that his physical body responded, that he felt compassion in his bones, his tissues, his organs. Zoe blushes, casting her gaze down. The way Riley’s eyes glitter, that wide grin, the raw flood of gratitude and enthusiasm that just keeps rushing; it embarrasses Zoe’s humility. We glance at each other and Zoe looks away, smiles back at Riley and quietly agrees that their time together will be great fun.
“Oh yes, thank you for inviting me!” Riley says again, keeps saying, as the truly grateful do, as she resumes her routine and heads into the bathroom for a shower. I smile, remembering something Riley said to a sister-friend of mine years ago, something my friend still repeats: I love to be invited. Don’t we all?
That wonder in Riley’s voice, it reminds me of when, in view of God’s astonishing desire to be with me, in answer to his bald invitations, come to me, I have again and again said the same: Thank you for inviting me. I never stop being amazed that the God of heaven and earth loves my company. “YESSS! Who’s doing this with us?” It really is the right response.
