The other day, Jon's friend who used to be in jail (or prison, I get them confused) stopped by to mow our large front and back lawns. We didn't ask him to; Jon's other friend who used to be in jail (and still is, on weekends) set it up, as he works in landscaping. This saves us (Jon) from having to use the hand-mower left by our landlord and spend hours of life doing something I have always thought is pointless, i.e. lawn maintenance. After the friend zoomed away in his protective goggles on his riding mower, Jon said something about how this is why it is not bad to have friends who are in, or have been in, prison and that some people wouldn't think that they could still be nice guys.
This made me think about my strange life. Young men toughened by prison life perform unsolicited acts of kindness on our yard. Deer are constantly browsing the crabapple tree visible from our living room (yesterday, one stood up on its hind legs to get an apple--I didn't realize they could do that). I am with a man 5 years younger who has been to war. I am suddenly, it feels, plopped down in the middle of a life that includes a one-year-old little girl and lots of loud, brightly-colored toys all over the floor, including a giant caterpillar that teaches about shapes and colors. I have lived to be the age of Jesus when He was crucified (so apparently, if I can just survive the next few months, I will be having a better year than He did).
Running into Jon's friend on his mower, there was just some feeling about the improbability of everything and how I have often felt pulled along by the sea of life without having my own direction, just letting things happen. I didn't ask for a big front and back lawn, but now I have them and they are "mine," at least for the year lease. I didn't ask to be born. (Or, according to some new age theories, maybe I did.) There is a generosity underlying everything that provides for us. It giveth and it will taketh away.
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