Colin and I just dropped Mom off at the Atlanta airport.

I was secretly hoping the strong rains in Atlanta would last just a day longer so I could hold on to Mom for just a few more hours. And a cleansing of the final layer of inch deep pollen paste that has coated my car and bronchial tubes would have been a nice little bonus as well.

Colin and I took Mom to the Flying Biscuit in Midtown this morning for breakfast. We really wanted to take her for “brunch” but her flight was leaving a bit too early for such a special event. Brunch is a big deal to the wonderful folk in Georgia and I have become quite fond of it myself. Admittedly, I had to get over my initial aversion to the word “brunch” because it appears to be a combination of the word “breakfast” and “lunch” which sorta-kinda-I-mean-really gets on my nerves. I swiftly got over my petty annoyance, however, the first time those creamy dreamy shrimp and grits touched my lips. Enough about “brunch” though. Except for one more thing, the word “brunch” is far better than “bruncheon” on the velveeta scale. My cordiality comes to a screeching halt with “bruncheon”.

Back to breakfast. In predictable Beth fashion, Mom ordered the Flying Biscuit Breakfast with the Orange scented French toast on the side. Please note that the Orange Scented French toast is actually not a side dish but a full meal. While we were waiting for Mom’s several dishes to come out we were talking about really urgent issues, like how complex and intricate the Flying Biscuit motif was on this little ceramic jar.

If I have not said this on the blog before, by far my favorite time to hang out with my Mom is right after some kind of big event like a videotaping, Passion, Deeper Still, or a Living Proof Live. In this case it was the Simulcast that was evidently extended to over 300,000 women. By the way, I told my Mom yesterday never to utter a number like that to me again without a serious warning and that if she even attempted to introduce me during the second session of the simulcast, I would take her to court for her wrongdoing. As you can guess, Mom did not listen and it turns out there really are restrictions on lawsuits. But seriously, Mom is super fun to be with right after a big conference. For starters, right after a big event she hasn’t slept in about a week and so after she steps off the stage she plunges into a very advanced case of delirium. If I thought she could handle the stress I would use this priceless state for my own advantage and literally take her from the church directly to a venue for her to do stand-up comedy. Also, since her stomach is usually pretty weak right before she speaks since she doesn’t have much of an appetite, usually the first thing she says to us after a session is, “I AM SO HUNGRY!” Then we sit down at the table and she says, “I’m going to order sixteen things.” For some reason, she always uses the same number, sixteen. I’m not sure why she has this affinity for the number sixteen but she does and it delights me to no end each new time she throws it out there, almost like it is the very first time she has ever come up with this golden number “sixteen”. You can ask Amanda. I am not making this up.

My heart is so full from such a wonderful weekend. After Colin and I left Mom’s hotel last night and had gone on home, Amanda and I called my Mom three-way from my cell-phone. It was like 1993 sans landline. We talked and giggled and carried on and on about little snippets and stories from women we had encountered throughout the day until it was past Mom’s bedtime. When we hung up the phone I realized I had a giant lump in my throat. The Lord’s ways are truly remarkable.  His intricate and elaborate pursuit of each of us just blows me away.  Yesterday as I sat listening to my Mom’s message in the second session I noticed a woman a few rows behind me who quietly streamed tears the entire hour and a half. As I watched her emotionally absorb words that were far too weighty for her to bear without a physical response, the gospel in its most unadulterated form was preached to my heart once again. That God, in the cross of Jesus Christ, has forgiven us and brought us into fellowship with Himself is the most compelling news our ears will ever hear and our minds will ever conceive. That He esteems us and deems us valuable is just beyond comprehension. I mean, we’re pretty bad.  Okay, we’re really bad, and even a tad bit unlovable a lot of the time.

Paul told the Corinthians in his second letter, “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ made his light shine in our heart to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ” (4.6). God’s work in us through Jesus Christ is nothing short of a new creation. The same creator who sculpted the sun shined his very own light into our hearts by means of the knowledge of Christ’s gospel. This is not the kind of news one just sits and coldly anticipates with a forced half-smile but one that should be absorbed in a manner that cannot be controlled, contained, or folded up neatly like linens in a closet. I thank my dear sister who was sitting several rows behind me, wherever she is now, for reminding me how vast, enrapturing, and beautiful the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ really is. It is a profound experience to ponder the gospel anew in the face of someone who has just internalized God’s indescribable gift. The gospel is not safe and predictable, although we have most often rendered it such. It should turn every aspect of our lives completely upside down. Jesus has thrown everything utterly off balance. Perhaps more often than not the Gospel should completely undo us to the point that we cannot act altogether civilized. It sounds a little bit unsettling or even grotesque for those of us who are especially self aware but the bright side is that the community of God has been a peculiar people from the beginning, so we really don’t have all that much to lose.

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