she’s grace
Within the first five minutes of her arrival, our new friend Stella sits doubled-over, arms folded tightly against her waist. It’s move-up morning in kids’ ministry, and Stella has just finished the first grade. This is her first time in the chaotic whirl of the older elementary group. A young friend pats my back, interrupting my conversation with little Grace, who has lately become attached to me; who right now stands in front of me tucking a hank of hair behind one ear, pushing her glasses up on her freckled nose. I think I remind Grace of her mom.
“She’s crying,” this friend says, drawing my attention, and Grace’s, to Stella, to the lonely spot Stella has found despite the roiling crowd of kids.
“What happened?” I ask, already starting to walk that way. “Do you know?”
“One of the boys accidentally hit her with a ball,” friend says.
Gently, I touch Stella on the shoulder, and she looks up, her cheeks wet. Stella’s hair hovers over her head in thick, wiry curls, like a dark cloud.
“Stella, are you okay?” I ask, kneeling next to her.
“I-was-just-playing-ball-with-the-boys-and-one-of-them-threw-the-ball-and-it-hit-me-haaard,” Stella wails, not stopping for a breath, tears gushing fresh. She flies into my arms, burying her face in my shoulder. I pat her back to soothe her, as my mom did me, as I did my own kids when they were small.
“I know that hurt,” I tell her, “but I think you’re going to be okay.”
Eventually, she nods, sniffling, her head bobbing up and down against my chest. She releases her grip, leaning back against my arms to get a better look at me.
“I like your dress,” I offer, smiling. Stella’s dress is meadow green and covered in flowers, and the bell skirt opens in the front to reveal a pair of shorts, making the outfit the fusion of a spring dress and a romper. When Zoe was this age, I used to make her wear exercise shorts under her skirts.
“My mom got it for me for Easter.” She says, tentatively, and then, “This is my first time coming in here.”
Grace, who followed me across the room, and who has been quietly and quite tenderly observing the situation, suddenly springs to life. Up till now, Grace, who is rising into one of the upper grades, has also been perplexed, her face knotted and tilted. In fact, Grace is so expressive that I half-expected her to blurt, “why are you so upset about that,” as Stella explained, but compassion won out, and Grace had only listened, her eyes soft.
“Are you afraid?” Grace asks Stella now. “I guess you haven’t really had chance to make friends yet.”
Stella only nods, looking a little surprised, as though she’s just noticed Grace for the first time.
“I’ll be your friend,” Grace says, holding out her hand.
Stella considers a moment, and then, nodding again, reaches back. She doesn’t smile, and it feels to me like she’s reaching for Grace’s hand from behind a carefully erected wall.
“I’m afraid of the dark,” Grace says conspiratorially, leaning toward Stella’s ear, her other hand curled at the side of her mouth.
Stella’s lips curl, just at the edges, the beginnings of a smile. “Me too!” Stella says incredulously, and then begins to scan the room, as though wondering about the rest of the playing, running, laughing, screaming kids. Could they also be just a little bit afraid? Returning her attention to Grace, Stella plants her hands on the bench where she and Grace sit, scooting over until she’s right beside Grace.
“It’s okay,” Grace says soberly, “we’ll be afraid together.”
Stella nods again and then, finally, she smiles, big and wide.
I sit back and watch the two of them, settling in close by in case they need me, thinking yet again about what Christ said, that we must change and become like children. Spiritual formation makes us childlike, which is the opposite of childish. We learn to choose authenticity over pretense; we learn to choose compassion over criticism; and if we must be afraid, we learn to be afraid together.
I shake my head now over how easily, how efficiently, how immediately Grace has accomplished all this, and then I laugh, because of course she did. She’s Grace.
