Messing up, making do, and the grace of family and strangers

My wife and I eyed the magnolia tree. Not all that big, it was still likely twice our combined ages, but it needed to come down. So, out came the ax. I don't know if you've ever cut down a magnolia tree, but it's not like a pin oak or a sugar maple. The wood is nearly as spongy as it is hard. All of which makes a magnolia tree really tough to cut down. But we chopped and we pushed, and we chopped and we pushed. And we chopped and we pushed it right into the overhead power line, where it dangled just above the ground, inviting passers-by and small children alike to satisfy their curiosity by grabbing it. My wife and I eyed our two small children. Baby Jesus and his earthly father Joseph had gone missing from the Nativity scene. It wasn't just any Nativity scene either. From South America, there were brightly painted figures shaped out of a hardened dough. It was the most magnificent Nativity scene we had ever seen. And now the children had run off with Baby Jesus and took his earthly father Joseph to boot. They were steadfast in their denials claiming innocence with all their little hearts could muster. We knew better. We were their parents after all. We could see the duplicity in their chubby faces. That is, of course, until the next day when we found Baby Jesus' head along with chunks of his earthly father Joseph on the carpet amongst our dog's vomit. I've heard that some parents never apologize to their children. We could never be those parents. Otherwise we would run out of things to say. My wife and I eyed our youngest son. He was an early teenager and was not born at the time of the Baby Jesus inquisition. Earlier in the day, he had taken a hard hit to his side when he was tackled in a JV football game. He was feeling some discomfort and thought it might be a good idea to see a doctor. We, however, consulted our paper-thin medical knowledge and combined it with our deep expertise in getting bumps, bruises and broken bones and decided he was fine. Instead of seeking medical attention, we asked him to help move a couch. As is his way, the next day he again made the calm case that seeing a doctor was probably a good idea. We acquiesced. And I must say that the ultrasound picture of his lacerated spleen was quite impressive — one of the biggest that the doctor had ever seen. Once again, please see the note on apologizing to your children. Along the way, we've backed into telephone poles, knocked over grocery store displays, absent-mindedly left one another on the roof without a ladder, and have been forced to bury a cow. And that's only the beginning of a long long list of mess-ups. I must say that it's a blessing to be able to mess up together, but whether together or on our own, we all mess up. If not for the grace of God, the kindness of strangers, and the freeing power of forgiveness, I'm not sure where we would be. But I do know that it would be some place a lot less than here. As people, we like to tell one another not to get stuck in a moment or be defined by our mistakes. Those are fine words, but to be good words they must be bolded by our own responsibility. We must speak with the knowledge of God's grace, with a commitment to kindness, and a determined willingness to forgive. Otherwise, they are only words. And we have enough of those already. People speak and nothing happens. God speaks and everything happens. That's one of the differences between people and God. To be good, we must do good. And it starts with doing good by one another, even and especially when we mess up. It's both the least and the most we can do. Jeff McCord lives and works in the Kingsport area. You can email him at docdavismccord@gmail.com.