Osler's Razor

I was crossing the border into Canada yesterday (that's something people in my part of the world do periodically), and had the following exchange with the Canadian border guard:

Him: "Where are you from?"
Me: "I live in Minnesota. [long pause]. Minneapolis."

He took a cursory look at my passport--which clearly describes my home as being in Edina, not Minneapolis-- and waved me on.

As I drove away, I realized that I had been asked exactly one question, and had answered it both awkwardly and incorrectly (since I really do live in Edina, not Minneapolis). Yet, there were no consequences whatsoever.

How many times have I been this lucky? The answer is, a lot. An awful lot. And the collective grace of those who let my fumbling and mistakes go is what has let my life be whole and fulfilling.

I realize that the near-miss on identifying the location of my home may not seem like too big of a deal, but that is only true if one receives grace. Consider the other option; if the discrepancy had been seen as suspicious, and I was sent to secondary to fumble around on a bunch of other questions... and who knows what happens then? Perhaps if I was of a different ethnicity or spoke with an accent, the outcome would have been very different (since racism and bias are not limited to our side of the border). Privilege is a thing, and we don't always know when we benefit-- and when others do not.

But, that bit of mercy it is not an isolated incident, and usually it does not have the tinge of possible bias. I saw my parents yesterday, too-- sat on the porch of their house and talked and drank coffee in the cool of the morning. How many times, how many dozen, how many hundreds, thousands, did they make a mental note of my mistake or a mis-statement and just... let it go or we’re gentle in correcting me? And those others, many of them, who have done the same? I say and do stupid things, and have for a lifetime. Those who love me and a lot of people who don't have often been gentle with me when they did not have to be gentle.

We think of grace as this occasional grand gesture, the elaborate pardon of sin, but in our real lives grace is almost constant, barely noticeable, almost a part of the air around us. We breath it. And yet it is that-- the things people choose not to judge-- that makes life, and especially a good life, possible.