Wise Grace

We were in the last 2 hours of a 7 hour drive home from a short vacation with Jen's mom in Oregon.  We had had a great time in Oregon and so far the drive back had been fine.  As the day was our anniversary, I had hoped to have the last few hours of the drive quiet to spend time talking with Jen (we had already moved the celebration of our anniversary to the next day).  However, Sophia would not cooperate.  While she is usually a great traveler, for some reason she would not fall asleep (even though it was way past her bedtime).  I had held her hand for a while and sung songs with her.  When that didn't work Jen tried for a while.  Sophia kept talking and started whining and crying.

We have found that sometimes when Sophia gets in this state, a forceful (but restrained) "Sophia, Stop!" will pull her out of what would otherwise be a downwards spiral into a tantrum.  I tried this to no avail, so I repeated it, still nothing.  I was beginning to feel desperate as we were nearing the end of our drive and I really wanted some quiet time with Jen.  I could tell I was losing my patience so I just stopped saying anything and focussed on the road.  As Sophia kept whining, I became increasingly irritated (at that point I sooo understood the stereotypical fatherly threat "you kids better shuttup or I'll turn this car around!).  Finally, I said it again, "Sophia, Stop!" this made it worse, and I lost my temper "Sophia Marie Amundgaard, stop crying, I want at least some quite time with my wife tonight - shut up!!!"  This put her over the edge, she completely lost control and started wailing.  She tried to speak through her deep sobs "Sophia, huh huh, Sophia want, huh, huh, Sophia hode, huh, huh, spoon, Sophia huh huh, Sophia want huh special huh peaches"

I felt horrible, my heart sank into my gut and I almost started crying myself (tears are coming to my eyes as I retell it now).  I immediately regretted my outburst and knew it had hurt and scared my little girl.  I looked for the next exit and pulled off.  I turned off the engine, got out, ran to her door, took her out of her car seat and hugged her to my chest.  "I'm soooo sorry sweetie, poppa was wrong to yell at you, please forgive me!"

Her response?  Pointing to the almost full moon she said "Rock in the sky!"  I said, "That's the moon, sweetie.";  "Myoon ... Papa get it?";  "You want the moon sweetie? I'd get it for you if I could.";  "Papa take you there?"; "Someday, I'd love to take you there, but it's too far away to go there now.";  Pointing at the grass in the ditch, "S'okay, go through the grass?";  "I don't think we can get there by the grass."  "Okay, maybe later, Sophia want special peaches?";  "Okay sweetie, let's get in the car and have some peaches."

When we got in the car I could no longer control myself, I broke down.  I held her head against mine and cried.  Her chubby little hand grasped my finger and she leaned against me as I cried.  I deeply regretted that I yelled at her.  I couldn't imagine how I could be so angry with her and could think of no reason why she would ever deserve to be yelled at.  I desperately wished I could turn back the clock.  Moreover, I was overwhelmed and deeply humbled by her gracious, trusting response.

However, in the midst of my grief, I began to feel strengthened and encouraged.  It felt as if somehow Sophia's innocent, joyful, trusting, gracious response to my anger had brought light into the situation, and this light was slowly overtaking the darkness.  As I wept in sadness, my heart began to feel joyful.  This situation seemed to have more significance than the normal successes and failures of every day life.  I knew that I would remember this night and that it would somehow leave me changed forever.

As I reflect on that experience, I am convinced that it was a sacramental moment.  In some mysterious way the Father used Sophia as a means-of-grace.  I'm not sure how it worked but I feel quite certain that that is what happened.  At first I wanted to reject the idea - how could grace come at a time like that? in the midst of my failure?  But this seems to be the pattern with grace - it is most present when we least deserve it.  The grace communicated through the cross of Christ and through the weekly celebration of the Eucharist are the prime instances of this.

In her essay "The Church and the Fiction Writer," Flannery O'Connor writes that one of the problems for a Christian fiction writer is "the presence of grace as it appears in nature, and what matters for him is that his faith not become detached from his dramatic sense and from his vision of what-is."  In other words, it is difficult to write about grace in the context of human evil; nevertheless, it must be done.  Ignoring the human condition produces fiction with no depth or any real meaning.  "By separating nature and grace as much as possible, he has reduced his conception of the supernatural to pious cliche and has become able to recognize nature in literature in only two forms, the sentimental and the obscene."  However, says O'Connor, both obscenity and sentimentality are perversions.  Sentimentality, she says, tends to overemphasize innocence and in doing so turns it into evil.  This is because human innocence was lost in the fall and is only gained through participation in Christ's death.  "Sentimentality is a skipping of this process in its concrete reality and an early arrival at a mock state of innocence, which strongly suggests its opposite."  To avoid this, grace must always be kept within the context of nature no matter how ugly that nature might be.

This seems to make sense of my experience.  God used my failure and Sophia's response as a channel for his grace and as a means of furthering my sanctification.  While I still wish I could undo my actions, I am grateful for my Sophia's gracious response and most of all for the Father's wise grace which was communicated through it.