I Spy Something Wrong - Make it Make Sense

“Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against a fellow Israelite, but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the LORD.” (Leviticus 19:18, NLT)

“And you must love the LORD your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your strength.” (Deuteronomy 6:5, NLT)

I felt like my kids had a full-time job when they were in elementary school: tattling. It seemed impossible to get anything done with the constant interruptions—“She did this!” “He did that!” My son, Stephen, was especially sensitive to injustice. His radar was always on, pointing out things that were unfair and pressuring me to make them right.

One day I decided we both needed a perspective shift. I called Stephen over and told him he had a new job. He was going to be the household “grace police.” Anytime he felt wronged or overlooked, he had the opportunity to hand out grace instead of demanding retribution. And every time he managed it, he could come to me for a high-five or an “attaboy.”

At the time, it worked. We both remembered the significance of grace, and he began to see that not every wrong needed immediate attention. Still, if I could go back with what I know now, I think I would have given Stephen a different title. Instead of the “grace police,” I would have made him a “restoration officer.”

Why? Because his sensitivity to the disorder around him was not something to suppress but something to steward. He could see things that weren’t right, and that ability was a gift. I wish I had taught him to focus that gift toward restoring order in ways that reflected God’s character. Did someone throw trash on the ground? He could pick it up, stewarding creation. Did he see a friend teased on the playground? He could restore order by building her back up. Did a classmate forget a snack? He could share from his own lunchbox. Restoration Officer to the rescue.

Over the years, life gave us harder “labs” to practice restoration, none more intense than when Clara was diagnosed with cancer. Her siblings had front-row seats to a home under siege—our calendar wiped clean, their parents exhausted, their sister in constant pain. There was no way to fix it, no way to make it right. And yet, they found small ways to step in as restoration officers. My daughter Abbie wore scarfs with Clara. Stephen went along to physical therapy visits, entering her world. Sometimes, simply sitting beside her was an act of restoration.

What I’ve learned is that true restoration rarely looks dramatic. It is usually private, costly, and born of compassion. It doesn’t come from irritation, self-righteousness, or bitterness. It comes from longing for God’s good order to break in where the world is broken. Wiping away a child’s tears, pausing to help a stranger, or offering kindness to a weary cashier—these small acts restore what has been disordered, reflecting the God whose image we bear.

Grace, I’ve realized, is only one path toward restoration. Sometimes it looks like mercy. Sometimes it looks like justice. Sometimes it looks like comfort. But always, it is part of God’s larger story to set things right.

We are all restoration officers, called to notice disorder and, in love, stand in the gap. And the beauty is this: every small act of restoration points toward the day when God will make all things new.

Our stories give us unique insight into disorder and order. For instance, after our experience in the hospital I know that parking passes and fruit baskets for the nurse’s station make a great gift. I can spot a hurting mom from a mile off. Those are my opportunities to step in and creatively participate in God’s restoration plan.

Reflection: Take a few minutes to think about your story and what insights that has given you. Pray and ask God how he can use your unique gifts and talents to offer a fellow image bearer relief from disorder. (Luke 10:25-37)