My classmate Orlando ran after me. When he caught up, he grabbed my hand and said, “Hi, Lany, give me that book. Miss Racho (our first-grade teacher) said you cannot take it home. It could get lost.”
“Oh my Lord, I am in trouble now!” I said to myself as I gave Orlando the book.
I was afraid of Miss Racho. She was a good teacher, but was very strict. Everyone in class knew it. She was thin, but a mighty lady.
I was like a scared rabbit. I was caught red- handed smuggling a book from school.
At that time, only students from grades 3 to 6 were allowed to take books home. First- and second-graders were forbidden from doing it.
It was the last day before Christmas break. Our class was rehearsing Christmas carols in preparation for a music festival at church in the late afternoon.
At the rehearsal, Miss Racho assigned me to stand at the back of the group near a back wall because I did not have a good singing voice.
No one wanted to be near me during the rehearsal because my voice had a tendency to disturb the harmony.
When I became aware that I was standing near a pile of books, an idea flashed into my mind.
“I am going to take a book to practice reading during the Christmas break,” I thought.
My heart beat a bit faster with excitement at the thought of taking a book home.
After World War II, there was absolutely nothing to read where I lived in the Philippines.
Books, magazines, newspapers and other periodicals did not exist.
When I learned the alphabet, I tried to apply it by reading the words on boxes.
The first word I ever read and pronounced was “Manila,” printed on a box containing cigars from Cuba.
While everybody was concentrating on the Christmas carols, I slowly and carefully grabbed a book and hid it under my shirt.
I kept it there until the festival was over. Then, I took the book from under my shirt and started to walk home, feeling happy to have a book to read.
But I made a big mistake.
I took the book out too early, when I was still near the church. Miss Racho saw this and sent Orlando to retrieve it.
The thought of facing Miss Racho when classes would resume after the Christmas break, made me sick to my stomach all through vacation.
“How could I return to school and face Miss Racho?” I thought.
“Nanay (Mom), how many days until school begins?” I asked several times while on vacation.
There were no calendars at that time. Even if there was one, I did not know how to read a calendar.
But when classes resumed, Miss Racho did not say anything to me about smuggling.
Can you imagine what a relief it was? I was on cloud nine the whole day.
I was a different child. It was the most peaceful day I had since before the vacation began.
The impending doom did not happen.
I wonder if similar feelings of relief and peace will flood our soul when we die and hear Jesus say, “Well done, my child. Enter into the kingdom which has been prepared for you.”
I did not know it then, but I know now that the feeling of relief and peace when Miss Racho did not mention my smuggling was a touch of God’s grace – a tiny drop from the ocean of mercy. It was an “It is the Lord” feeling.
God’s judgement has never been a problem for me. But God’s grace always stunned me.
In fact, God’s judgement always seemed right – the burning of Sodom and Gomorrah, the killing of the Egyptians at the Red Sea, the Israelites wandering in the desert for 40 years, Ananias and Sapphira struck to death.
God’s judgement seemed logical, appropriate and easy to swallow.
But God’s grace? That’s another matter. Look at some examples from Scripture.
David, the adulterer and murderer, by God’s grace became a man of God’s heart.
Peter, who denied Christ three times, by God’s grace became the first pope.
Little Zacchaeus, a crook, by God’s grace gave away two-thirds of his wealth to the poor.
The “good thief” crucified with Jesus was hell-bound one minute; the next minute, he entered heaven with Jesus.
Story after story, prayer after prayer, surprise after surprise. It seems that God is looking for more ways to get us home than ways to keep us out.
Read the Scripture.
I challenge you to find a soul who came to God seeking grace and did not find it; find a person who came to God looking for a second chance and left with God giving that person a lecture.
You can’t find it.
Instead, you will find a shepherd in search of his lamb. With his legs scratched, his feet sore and his eyes burning, he scales the cliffs and explores the caves, he cups his mouth and calls into the canyon, and the name he calls is yours!
God is a woman in search of a lost coin. No matter that he has nine others, He won’t rest until he finds the tenth. He searches the house, moves furniture, pulls up the rugs, cleans off the shelves, stays up late and gets up early. All other tasks can wait; only one matters. The coin is of great value to Him. He owns it and will not stop until He finds it. The coin He seeks is you!
God is a Father pacing the porch. His eyes are wide and his heart is heavy. He seeks his prodigal son. He searches the horizon, yearning for the familiar and recognizable figure. His concern is not his investments or his business; his concern is his child who wears his name and bears His image. He wants you home! The son is you.
It is only in the light of this passion for saving the lost that we can understand this incredible promise: “If you believe, you will get anything you ask for in prayer.”
But we cannot reduce this promise to the category of a new car, a new house or big paychecks.
The promise of grace that God assures us is far greater than earthly wealth.
God wants us to be free of yesterday’s guilt, today’s fears and tomorrow’s grave. Sin, fear and death are the mountains God moves.
God wants to set us free so we can go home.
When we get to heaven, we will be surprised at some of the folks we will see there.
And some will be surprised to see us there.