The ‘more’ of God we desire is in the ‘least’ of these we serve. I know this to be true because I saw a bumper sticker at a garage sale that read, “God is other people.” If you are looking for signs and wonders to order your steps I can think of no finer avenue to pursue than trolling the neighborhood for yard sales. It’s not that I have any special affinity for headless Barbies speaking in tongues as much as meeting folks sitting in their front yard, with all their foibles and fading memories on display, is bit like seeing ourselves as God might, if He was using a kaleidoscope.
The jumble of well used excuses, the stacks and stacks of neglected opportunities, and the tabletops piled high with self interests almost obscure the treasure, the hidden jewel that we are in the eyes of Jesus. The marvelous, the miraculous, the marketplace set on it’s head is where we connect with each other, where we realize He considers us worth spilling His Blood. As we haggle over the price of an original edition Kerouac, or a tablecloth knit of recycled butcher string, we enter into a bargain of commonality, a communion with another being that we may have never considered as another of His children save for the seemingly random cross of our paths.
This is where a handshake, sealing the deal, can lead to a testimony of when we were yet sinners He showed His love for us. We forgive each other for hoarding a grudge by dropping a few bucks to carry away what another can no longer bear. We hear the story of the summer when, or of the grandfather who first played with the antique toy, and we enter another’s family history long enough to realize what we have in common is never for sale but freely shared. We are in this life together and when my grandchild wears your child’s hand me down, with a fresh delight, the circle is unbroken.
The exceeding wealth of the grace we’ve been given easily transfers from our pocket to another’s purse when we see the value of the item exchanged gaining new life and purpose from something as simple as a shift in perspective. If something as eclectic as a lava-lamp can be reborn by a change of households, how much more we when we are adopted in as sons and daughters? It is true our great failing is when we appraise ourselves as nothing but junk, it is then that we need The Perfect Stranger, to approach our hearts and ask, “How much for this, love?”
