My wife Anna and I recently moved from Vancouver, our home of 10 years, to Coquitlam. It’s rarely easy to start over in a new community, much less in the midst of pandemic. And that’s been true for us. There have been days of intense loneliness, disorientation, and grief. We wonder how to make a home when it’s more difficult to draw together community than it’s ever been.
Yet all along the way, there have been moments of grace. They haven’t taken away all the stress or difficulty of this season. On the good days, however, when my anxiety stills, they have reminded me that we are held in God’s mercy – even here, even now. Before we moved, we discovered that some friends of ours had moved to Coquitlam ahead of us and had a basement to rent. Mercy. I write from a living room filled with furniture we acquired for free, from the generosity of others. Mercy. We live in a neighbourhood close to multiple parks, with ample space to walk and pray (and sometimes, when nobody’s looking, dance) whenever I feel crushed by the weight of life. Mercy. And in the midst of it all, a new life grows in my wife’s womb, a promise of God’s faithfulness after years of weeping and waiting. Mercy.
I wish I could say I was better at life these days. But somehow God knows my mess, sees it, and isn’t repulsed by the desperate internal flailings of these tumultuous days. If anything, it seems being honest about this mess awakens God’s mercy, like the tax collector of Jesus’ parable, beating his chest before Heaven. In my need I discover God moving toward me, maybe even that God was there with me all along. Mercy. That’s worth rejoicing for.
