Scene 1: Spending time with an old friend this Summer
In all the years we lived near each other, we did life together as extended family. Having each other's front door key. Knowing each other's number by heart (before speed dial). Refrigerator rights. Making toast in the other's kitchen. All that kind of stuff. Catching up was easy and familiar and wonderful.
As we spoke, I realised our versions of our shared past weren't quite aligned. I had to remind her of the massive part she'd played in the formation of us as a family and the type of parents we went on to be. I remembered their house as a place of acceptance and encouragement and welcome. Hanging out there was one of my favourite places to be because I could do just that - BE.
Her memories were different. The good stuff had faded and the melancholy and anxiety had taken over. In their place was regret about stuff she'd done or said wrong - or things she'd failed to do completely. Some of that might be true, but it was a skewed version of reality that left out all the good bits. And that's not fair, honest or true.
So we reminisced. We remembered together and talked about all kinds of stuff. We shared challenges - historical and current - and recommitted to pray for each other more regularly. It was sooo good and over too quickly.
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Scene 2: A couple of weeks afterwards, I found this podcast with Yeonmi Park, a North Korean defector who was trafficked out the country aged 13, along with her mother, eventually ending up in the USA. Yeonmi now lives there and campaigns for human rights. Her life story is chilling and horrific and inspiring. We know almost NOTHING about the atrocities that really go on in this world. The main thing I couldn't shake was that the regime in North Korea is pure death. It’s destructive, controlling and joyless and has claimed the lives of countless numbers of its citizens with no real accountability. The slightest hint dissent is punished severely - spilling out beyond the individual to their family, neighbours and friends. There is widespread death by association. And it's happening right now.
Even if a person gets out, they're still not truly free as anyone they've left behind is still a target.
The guilt is infectious.
It continues down the bloodline and can't be erased.
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Scene 3: We’ve started singing in church again. It’s pretty wonderful after so long. The other week we sung The Blessing that became really popular online during Covid.
May His favour be upon you
And a thousand generations
And your family
And your children
And their children
And their children
As we sung, the 2 opposing worlds were clashing in my brain:
North Korea and God’s Kingdom.
I was consumed with the realisation that guilt and death aren’t catching anymore.
Grace is.
I was singing and crying and thinking about the conversations over the Summer. Praying for my kids and all the people I'm forever connected to. Those of us still working things out. Rehashing what’s gone before. Changing things. Taking detours. People just living and finding our place in the world.
Why do we get so obsessed with our immediate children (and perhaps grandchildren), when our story is way older and bigger and deeper than that?
This is not North Korea.
Grace is infectious.
We live and breathe because of it. Complicated yet beautiful stories and being written and rewritten all over the place, as we're refined to reflect our creator. Our legacies ripple out to places we don’t even know about. They will touch the lives of human beings not even born yet.
And your children
And their children
And their children
And their children
And their children
And their children
And their children
And their children
And their children
And their children
And their children
And their children
