Grace: Surprise or Receptivity

Pawel Piech

Damian's birth began in the late afternoon when Carey told me simply "it's started!". This little announcement made me just giddy with excitement. I tried to be as calm as I could, but I also I knew that the arrival of our baby was imminent now and sometime within the next day or so we will become parents!

The first fourteen hours of the birth was something like a slow climb up an endless staircase. Each successive contraction took a little bit more effort and a little more will to get through. And of course, I was not the one doing the climbing so all I could do was to cheer-lead and try to keep distractions out of the way. Though I'm so glad that we now live in a culture where men are not excluded from this process. Because I really think it brought us closer together, and just in a time when we'd be needing each other more than ever.

The last hour of labor was not like a climb anymore, it was more like a roller coaster ride. We were surrounded by all kinds of people and everything was happening really fast. Then when Damian was finally born the doctor whisked him away immediately and we were together almost alone holding hands. This moment seemed both very calm and overflowing with anticipation. Finally, when Damian was already laying on the scale being weighed, our doula said to me: "Come and meet your son, Pawel".

Some of my friends who had children before me mentioned an overwhelming sense of responsibility when first holding their child. I felt none of that. Instead I was filled with wonder at this new person that was now part of our family. Who is he? What will he be like? This new life was full of possibility and hope.

In the next couple of days that we spent in the hospital, we started to get to know Damian and what he is like. Another friend had told me about his baby how he found a new born to be not really much of a person really. Just a little thing that slept almost all the time, and just wanted to feed otherwise. My experience couldn't have been more different. Our new baby's presence felt intense and full of personality. And even after a whole sleepless night, when I laid down next to his crib, I could barely close my eyes and let myself drift off to sleep.

His arrival had already changed our lives and no matter what happened from that point on nothing was going to take that away.

Julie Anderson

For me grace arrives unexpectedly in small and large ways.  It showed up as thin as a breeze last month when I found myself holding hands with a Catholic priest as we sang in a circle to support immigrants awaiting deportation – this being decades after my conflicted and rejected Catholicism.  Another time it hovered tentatively like second-hand smoke of the Gods over my daughter and me as we found our way through a difficult discussion.

My most stunning experience of grace happened when my husband was airlifted from Tahoe to Stanford Medical Center to correct a congenital heart problem that had suddenly advanced to a new and horrifying level of urgency.  I had started down a spiral of disbelief and anxiety while the doctors in the mountains explained everything as gently as they could and that my husband could die at any minute. They could perform the necessary surgery there, but it was not their specialty, and he would have only a 50-50 chance of surviving the surgery in their hands. They recommended the alternative: to get into a tiny airplane, and fly to Stanford where they specialize in this surgery. But if anything should go wrong along the way, there would be no way to save him in the airplane.

Braced against the shaking in my arms and stomach, I discussed the options with my husband, who was surprisingly stabilized, and seemed more concerned about the stress on me!  We asked a million questions. I made some phone calls.  We decided on the Stanford option. He says he “knew” all along that he would come through it OK – how did he know that?

Taking my first steps into the Stanford Medical Center alongside his gurney is when I felt the most stunning experience of grace.  Unexpected, something inside me shifted, and my mind played a full trick on itself.  I actually started to feel like the luckiest person in the world!  While my husband was being wheeled into open-heart surgery!  The panic had left me.  I knew this was a gift, and I took it in, amazed.

How did this happen?  I did not have it in my power to make this change happen.

After the surgeon emerged from the OR, and sat me down to explain how well the surgery went, I could finally let out my tears.  The humility of this man made me realize he has of course seen a lot, and nothing is certain in such an emergency.  We were both witness to this startling event and its outcome.  I could begin to count up the miracles, which were many.

A gem among them was my experience earlier that day when everything was still up in the air, my husband’s life hung in the balance, there were still more factors to be weighed and decided, and a remarkable grace came to me unannounced to steady me for the rest of the ordeal.

Linda Zittel

Grace happens. It has happened to me.

Here is my story.

1977

January

Warren and I are dating. I visit him often at his tiny attic apartment he shares with his roommate, Rick. I am 23 and Rick is 19. He has long greasy hair, and is surly most of the time. It becomes clear pretty fast that Rick doesn't like me. Since I spend a lot of time in the apartment, this is a problem.

April

I move into the apartment. The tension between Rick and I is palpable. There are fun moments, too, but in general, Rick and I try to coexist. In a very small apartment with one bathroom, this is not easy.

One night I invite my best friend over for dinner. It is the first time I am having a friend over, and I am quite nervous. I am making spaghetti when Rick and a friend come home. They have obviously been drinking. Rick immediately begins complaining about my spaghetti sauce.

We sit down to eat, and, surprise, Rick starts complaining about the taste of the spaghetti. He makes one comment, two, then three. I am steaming. Finally I get up, take away his plate of food, and impulsively dump it on his head. Everybody laughs at him. We don't speak for days.

June

Warren and I move into our own apartment. It is full of cockroaches. We deal with it. There is no way I am moving back with Rick. Rick gets new roommates, and eventually, a girlfriend. We visit each other occasionally, with forced politeness.

May, 1978

Warren and I are married. Rick and his girlfriend are at the wedding, but do not bother to attend the reception.

1979

Rick moves up to the Sierra Foothills with his girlfriend. I hear about him mainly from a mutual friend. We hear he has broken up with his girlfriend, and that he is working as a kitchen helper at a small café in Murphys.

Over the years, when we are nearby, we stop at Murphys and ask for him at the cafe, but it is always his day off.

June 2002

We are in the Sierra Foothills, and stop to look for Rick at Murphy's. The cafe waitress says, "Rick isn't working here now. He hurt his back. But why don't you go talk to his wife, Marva? She works at the gift shop across the street."

Wife?

As we walk into the gift shop, we see a woman standing behind the counter. She smiles at us. She is lean and confident, with long, wavy brown hair down to her waist. She exudes warmth and wisdom. When she finds out who we are, she calls Rick, who drives right down to see us.

Rick is so glad to see us. We hug, and sit down on a bench, catching up. Although Rick has had some hard times, he seems happy. Several people in town stop to greet him, and he introduces us.

He apologizes for being difficult. "I was losing my friend," he says. He brings up the spaghetti incident, laughing about it. We exchange phone numbers, and call each other once in a while.

2008

The phone rings. A familiar voice on the other end says, "Linda? What are you having for dinner? Is it spaghetti, by any chance?" It's Rick. He has a broken back, is on permanent disability, and has moved with Marva to Idaho. They are living in a double wide trailer.

We talk. He asks about my teaching. He asks about Warren.

The next week he calls again. This time he talks to Warren. Wow. He is really trying to reestablish contact with us.

I am overjoyed. We take turns calling each other every few months. I get to know his wife.

2011

Rick calls. It has been 34 years since I dumped a plate of spaghetti on his head for embarrassing me in front of my best friend.

"It's so great to hear your voice," he says.

We have a good, long talk.

When it's time to go, I say, "Love you, Rick."

Without hesitation, he replies, "Love you too, darlin'."