I just got back from several fun filled days in New York with two of our daughters. It was such a treat to see Robin since she was unable to visit with the rest of the family this past summer due to a broken leg. Thankfully, she has been progressing very well…until right before Jessie and I showed up, that is. For our visit, she was back on her crutches but still able to drive and having fun playing host to her older sister and her even older mother.
When it was time to head back to the city, (for those of us in the Fly-over Zone, “the city” is their affectionate moniker for the Big Apple itself), Robin had decided to treat me to a visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art (A.K.A., “the Met”). As she drove us through the city and past the Met, we observed a formidable line forming outside the front of the building, which did not bode well for our excursion. After saying goodbye to her sister who was catching an Uber to the airport, I helped Robin negotiate her crutches and get her situated into a wheelchair. We then proceeded to find a line on the inside of the building to get tickets, but not being sure of which line we needed to be in, I walked ahead a few paces to look around.
That’s when a professional looking lady with an authoritative lanyard asked if I needed help. When I showed her my daughter in the wheelchair, she immediately took charge. We were invited to following, and were led past everyone else and into the first exhibit. (Not kidding.)
“Now, you two go on in here since this is the exhibit that will take the longest and I’ll bring your tickets to you.”
And so, we perused about, and I wondered if she really would come find us. However, within maybe fifteen minutes, the nice lanyard lady did find us, giving us the requisite stickers to wear and paper tickets to pocket should anyone question our authority to be inside.
“Thank you so much,” said I, “and where can we pay for these?”
“Oh, no, those are complimentary tickets,” said the lanyard.
Dumbfounded.
Needless to say, it was a wonderful visit. Not that I wanted my daughter to be in a wheelchair—far from it—but it was obvious we needed something beyond our own capacity and we were certainly not too (stupidly) proud to accept the help.
But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.
Romans 5:8
I love the accounts of Jesus reaching out to the wounded and disenfranchised people of his society, which in reality included everyone whether they acknowledged it or not. The Samaritan woman at the well with multiple failed marriages, the untouchable unclean lepers, the paralyzed man at the Pool of Bethesda, Matthew the despised tax-collector and Peter whose courage failed him in Jesus’ time of greatest need. I love all of these because they are me: broken, failed, and flailing in life’s storms.
I can do all I know to do, following all the rules to earn my way in, (like standing in line at the Met), or I can accept with gratitude the One with the authority to get me beyond the obstacles I can’t get past myself. With a free pass, paid for. All for the acknowledgment of my brokenness.
But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His name, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.
John 1:12-13
And when He gives me the ticket in, who am I to argue?
New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1971, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. All rights reserved.
INSPIRATION with an ATTITUDE 