Chasing Grace

Grace is no longer that serendipitous moment I stumble on earnestly as I plow through my day.  I recognize its dominion, I have charted its domain, I know where it blooms.  I know where it is, how to entice it, how to embrace it when it comes.  It is no longer an elusive stranger, flirting and fleeing, leaving me with the cruel temptation to delay it.  I know grace.

I find grace in three places actually, each unique, each as bountiful as the other.  Ironically, these portals are all at the intersections of people, sometimes strangers.  I am not sure if I am a full, card-carrying misanthrope, but I have never found solace in others, never been able to share much with too many people.  The fact that the greatest feeling I know comes from the confluence of my efforts and their openness does not escape me, does not fail to raise a small, sardonic smile.

I find grace when I connect to my daughters - it doesn't happen as often as I would like, but we are working on it.  It seems I have always been a stage behind them.  I can remember when they were very young, being eager for the day they could talk, when they did, I didn't understand them.  My gruff, reserved nature did not help them bond with me, and neither were too keen to spend my free time with me out in the garage building furniture.  But now, as they have matured, we can talk.  It is easier for me to listen, and for the first time in my life, my ears are open for another purpose than to extract detail, to solve problems - I just simply enjoy their company, they are wonderful young women.  This is Ramadan, and it would be remiss if I did not thank Allah for his patience, and that which he bestowed on them. I am a very, very lucky man.

The second place I find grace is in the classroom, whether there are a hundred

of my peers, a few dozen lost teenagers, or just three kids at a friend's house in Amman.  When I teach, I reach, share, and care.  This realm is the first place I encountered grace many, many years ago.  It was in Jamaica, and I had experienced it many times, always surprising me.  I could not engender it, call it out, even sustain it once it arrived.  It was a feeling that I belonged, that I was giving for once, and receiving in direct proportion.  It was natural, and I was connected to everyone in the room - the teacher/student boundaries were gone, and we were all smiling and learning, no one of us subjected, no one of us superior, all of us as one.  My college did not prepare me for this, as a matter of fact, I did not learn to cajole it until I left those lessons of my youth, and I taught as myself, taught as a man who cared for his students more than his ego or his reputation.  I have found my way, and a balance with the expectations of my craft.  Today, the classroom is often a haven from the rest of my day, a refuge.

My final venue for grace is the newest to me - it is in prayer, often when I congregate with others.  I don't pray like I should, and I don't make it to the mosque every Friday, but I am improving.  When I pray, my mind clears, and the minutiae of the day drifts off with any pain or frustration I might be suffering.  I am praying at least twice a day regularly now, sometimes more.  I want to pray five times as I should, and I want to pray in the mosque more often.  I have prayed in many places around the world, including the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem on Eid, a humbling experience.  My favorite moment praying however, was on Eid a year or so ago in Amman, at the downtown mosque.  I had spent a lot of time in the crowded neighborhood around the mosque, exploring the side streets and markets.  There were video stores, clothing stores, food markets, hardware stores, and restaurants. It was a favorite spot of mine to hang out.  Oddly though, as a tourist, I mingled with thousands of people who paid no mind to me, with whom I felt no connection.  It was as if we were each alone, moving about avoiding each other.  I didn't expect the experience I had that first morning I prayed in the mosque.

As I made my way in and took off my shoes looking for a memorable spot to store them, there were hundreds of others filing in.  We all found places on the carpet, and made unique and lonely prayers.  But then as we were called to prayer, we all moved forward easily, filling every open spot without effort, and at once, we were a sea of worshippers all in unison.  Shoulder to shoulder, sole to sole, brother to brother. It was such an incredible feeling to be there, a White American ignored for who he usually was, and embraced as a brother Muslim.  No one looked at me as if I was out of place, no one looked at all - I was granted the anonymity of respect, and I never felt so connected to a group of people in my life.  We prayed in unison and I understood the affirmation of fellowship.  Not patting each other on the back, raising our voices in cheers, bellowing for attention. It was the closest I have been to my God. As we rose to leave, there were kind smiles and gentle nods as I made my way back to find my shoes.  I never felt isolated again downtown, and I am sure I smiled more often as I shopped.