grace: two perspectives

Last night at Greenhouse, Jason mentioned that no matter how many good things are in life, one bad thing often sets us off, consuming speech and thought. Lately, I've been set off.

Story #1

While in Africa, my middle finger had birthed some sort of infection, which I let run wild for a week, unaware of how fast infections can spread.

We took care of it as best we could in Zim with the First Aid kit, but after a 34-hour overseas travel dance, it worsened. I've often said that I've been living on grace the last two years (no health insurance, my doctors include medical-savvy friends and WebMD), so going to an actual doctor isn't realistic. I talked to my parents' long-time doctor on the phone, who told me I had to get the finger checked out.

My Dad told me to go to the ER; he'd foot the bill.

"God, I need a solution here," I said, and started googling things like, "Free Health Care Grand Rapids." The Health Department rerouted me to the United Way, which did it's own Google search and gave me the number for a local clinic, The Baxter Community Center.

I told them I was in Zim on a mission trip and that my finger was jacked up. The woman seemed overly anxious to help out. "We can see you on Monday," she said. "Umm," I stalled. It was 1:40 p.m. on Friday.

"Where do you live?" she she said. I told her. Turns out it was a half-mile from my house. "If you can get here in twenty minutes, we'll see you today," she said. "We close at 2:45."

Un-showered and jet-lagged, I jumped into respectable-looking clothes, wrapped my finger, printed a map and got in the car. I'm greeted by the woman on the phone who talked about a country she visited in Africa. I filled out a simple sheet of paper, and sat in the lobby for five minutes, and stared at all the literature about Jesus plastered on the walls.

"Aaron, the doctor will see you now," she said.

After a firm handshake, introduction and small talk about Zim, the doctor looked at the finger, mumbled something, diagnosed the disease, pricked it with a needle, drained it, wrapped it, wrote a script and shared choice words about key players in Zim politics.

"This one's on the house," the doc said.

"Wow, thank you, what a blessing," I reply.

And in less than an hour, I was the recipient of a free doctor's appointment and antibiotics.

One week later, the finger is almost completely healed.

And for this grace, I am grateful.

Story #2

We're moving our business downtown this week, signing a lease tomorrow and the moving truck on Thursday. The major setback has been the parking situation, the potential for a daily nightmare. I've been trolling the city website for weeks, preying on the elusive Area 5 monthly pass, a lot close to our studio and the heart of downtown, but always booked.

This morning, I check it on a whim, and one spot was available. I call Andrew for the "go" and then the city, wondering if it's some sort of type-o.

"Really? There's a spot open in 5?" Linda, the parking woman says.

"Yes, I saw it on your website this morning," I reply.

"Has anyone sold that spot in 5?" Linda yells over the phone.

Turns out, there's a spot, and it's ours.

"There hasn't been a spot open there in two years," Linda says.

And in ten minutes, the parking crisis is over.

And for this grace, I am grateful.