He has sons from a failed marriage who spurn him, but every week he gets his second chance -- a Sunday school class full of kids who love him. He teaches them all the truths about God that he'd love to have taught his own children.
He's standing in the church kitchen now, subbing in for the usual Wednesday night person. He invites my son to join him. He shows him how to make lemonade for a large crowd, then together they taste it and deliberate whether it's okay to serve.
They share a special bond, my son and this guy. An understanding and camaraderie that only another person with dyslexia can fully comprehend. He encourages my son to work hard and to do well in school.
And my son encourages him. His questions, his curiosity, even his very presence in this man's life, all speak volumes. He matters. He is valued.
We live many miles from home. My children rarely see their natural grandparents. But in Christ, God provides abundantly. And a man cut out of the lives of his own grandchildren, becomes a beloved grandparent after all.
33 Jesus asked, "Who are my mother and my brothers?" 34 Then he looked at those sitting around him and said, "Here are my mother and my brothers!" Mark 3:33-34, NCV
I get frustrated at times with church. And then I look into the kitchen and I catch a glimpse. Yes, there is much beauty here. A tiny story of redemption. This is what church was meant to be.
(Linking up with the Saturday Evening Blog Post at ElizabethEsther.com)