It was one of those good hard moments. It’s good, so much goodness. And hard. So much hardness. co- existing, all at once.
I walked into the middle school auditorium towards where I just “knew” my parents were sitting. I walked confidently scanning for them in the audience and for my nephew near or on stage.
I hadn’t gotten far before someone called my name, and there seated to my left was my father and beside him, my mother. I smiled a bit confused by the text message I received about where they were seated. Fortunately the text that described where on stage my nephew and his blessed violin were seated was much more accurate. As I spotted him, he spotted me and smiled his perfect 12 year old boy smile. I snapped a quick picture before returning to the creaky wooden seat my parents’ saved for me.
I watched my nephew scan for where we were seated. His beautiful brown locs swaying with him- first left, then right, then his neck stretched up a little more as he searched for us. I waved and he smiled, waved back, and sat back in his seat to prepare to play, and play he did.
This was his third concert in his budding middle school violin career. The first was a year ago and we- my parents, my sister who’s his mother, and my sister’s significant other were all there. My sister could not be more proud of him, beaming and recording his novice music making. We took loads of pictures afterwards, because that’s what we do. My sweet nephew knew this, tolerated us, and then scooched off to see friends. My schedule afforded me the flexibility to stay the night at my sister’s home that night which was a sweet treat for my nephew and I. It was so good, so so good.
To be at his third concert without my sister was hard. So so hard. And good. The goodness of him sticking with the instrument despite my sister being killed while taking him to violin practice last spring. The goodness of him having progressed to being on the stage as opposed to the floor in front of the stage with the beginners. The goodness of him memorizing a piece and playing with a small section of fellow violinists. The goodness of his smile, wide, bright, revealing he knows he is seen, loved, and supported, because he is. He is deeply known and deeply loved. The goodness of his uncle sneaking in the back of the auditorium to witness his talent. The goodness of our cousin who is his godmother sliding into the seat next to me to watch him and see too how much he is my sister’s child. The goodness of Jalen’s eyes widening upon noticing his father also came to watch him play.
And amid the good and hard I was struck by how Jalen was seeking us. He knew we- my parents, brother, his father, and I were supposed to be there and he believed we would be that’s why he was looking for us. While their orchestra leader began announcing that they were going to warm up, Jalen sought us. He sought us until he found us. And in finding us I witnessed him relax. He smiled and scooched back in his seat allowing his back to fully rest on the back of the chair.
I don’t know about you, but I imagine grace to work similarly. Grace is there for us just as it promises to be. No matter the room, no matter the noise or number of people in the room, if we look for it, it will make itself known. Grace doesn’t hide itself. It doesn’t witness us searching for it and attempt to play small or move away and become inaccessible. It stays rooted, planted, present, waving at us to remind us we need not fret. We can relax, smile, and do exactly what we have been purposed to do. God does not hide himself from us. He is ever present. He does not play games with us. He does not see us seeking Him and duck or move further away to be inaccessible. He makes Himself known to us and as He sends us to do what He’s created us to do, He remains with us, right in the room, above the noise, amid the people.
My hope for you is that as you navigate the good, the hard, the in between, that you know you can seek grace and it will absolutely make itself known to you. Grace is for you and with you. God is for you and with you.