Isabella reluctantly walked up stairs to the doomed “penalty box.”
A time out.
A place to contemplate.
A place to wait out the consequence of her actions.
A few moments later, my youngest leans to whisper, “I’m going to take her place.” Shuffling to her sister’s side, faint echoes of the gospel reach the bottom stairs and turn down the corridor of my heart.
“I’m here, just like Jesus.”
“He didn’t want to go to the cross.”
“He asked if there be any other way.”
“And God said No.”
“So Jesus said Yes.”
Upset in torturous eight-minute confinement, Isabella didn’t want a lesson about Jesus and she certainly didn’t want to hear it from her younger sister, who often times is the very source of frustrations.
“What does that have to do with me?!”
Quiet settled for brief moments, then rustling movement. Squirming for answers, Madelyn searched for what to say.
“Everything. It has everything to do with you.”
“I’m here. I’m going to sit in the penalty box for you. So you don’t have to because that’s what Jesus did for us.”
My husband and I, sitting in the living room, exchanged glances in subtle assurance. Every day we capitalize on teachable moments, becoming an example, sometimes a spectacle, of God’s grace and forgiveness. Most mornings we drive to school, answering questions about our great big God. Together we pray and become seekers on this treasure hunt of life. Then we sit back, wondering and waiting.
Do they see Jesus?
Do they know the deep waters of His love for us?
Do they understand the free gift of redemption that cost our Savior everything?
Do they know Jesus?
Listening to small voice say big things, my eyes are opened. She sees Jesus in ordinary cruxes of the day and imparts more truth in thirty seconds than a road trip of teachable moments.
She teaches me about friendship and laying down a life.
Am I willing to climb steep stairs and exchange comforts so friends can walk in freedom and grace once again?
Am I willing to sit beside a friend broken over sin and consequence?
Am I willing to take on discomfort and heaviness to carry burdens of a friend in need? A friend in hurt? A friend in despair?
I wait and listen.
And the two sisters sit.
They settle into the silence. Side by side.
One doesn’t take the other’s place, Jesus already did that.
They just sit and wait. Together.
