6. The Intersection
Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone. Colossians 4:6 As the two walked east past the bustling market, Emet paused at a corner of the intersection just diagonally opposite the family bakery. Turning to Hanan, he said, “Remember the line I just drew on the ground, son?” “Of course, Grandpa.” “Imagine this road in front of our bakery as that line.” As Emet pointed to where they’d just come from, he asked, “So, if we turned around and walked westward again, we’d be walking toward. . . .” Hanan leaned into the road, looking in the direction that Emet had just pointed. “We’d be walking back to the patio.” Emet sighed. “Well, technically, yes, but if we imagine this as the line I just drew. . . .” “Oh! Got it, Grandpa,” Hanan said with a sheepish laugh. “Umm . . . if we walked west, we’d be walking toward . . . Grace?” “Yes, well done,” Emet replied as he pointed in the opposite direction. “And if we started walking east?” A sly smile spread across Hanan’s face. “Well, if we walked northeast, we’d be walking back to our shop so you could finish telling me how Andrew drew that picture of Grace and Truth!” Emet folded his arms over his chest and chuckled. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Hanan grinned, “Okay, Grandpa. If we went east, we’d be walking toward Truth.” “Yes. But think for a moment. Since we’re at an intersection,” Emet said, motioning toward the four options one could take at the crossroad, “are east and west our only options?” Hanan looked inquisitively at his grandad and then around the intersection. He took in the fruit and vegetable stands, the customers haggling with shopkeepers over prices, and the kids at play; then he answered, “No, Grandpa, we could walk north past our shop toward the bridge.” “Or head south to the sea, right?” “Yep. That's right, Grandpa.” “I see,” said Emet, stroking his beard. “So, how would things change if Grace and Truth weren’t at opposite sides of the same line?” Hanan stepped back to allow a few shoppers to walk by, then asked, “What do you mean?” “What I mean is, what if this north-south road represented Truth, and this east-west road represented Grace?” Emet scanned his grandson’s face to see if he was comprehending. Their eyes were able to easily meet now that Hanan had grown a bit taller in the last year. “In other words,” Emet continued, “what if Grace and Truth were on perpendicular lines—not opposite extremes of one line. How would that change things?” “Uhh . . . I guess I’ve never thought about that before.” “Most people haven’t, son—but you need to,” Emet said as he looked toward the intersection again, “because it’ll change your life if you do.” Hanan stepped out of the way of more shoppers, a bit thrown off again by his grandfather’s serious words. “Change my life? How?”
Emet looked across the intersection toward their bakery and nodded toward the few customers who were waiting outside. “I’ll tell you when we get back to the shop.” Then, lightly tapping his own forehead, he added, “But keep this picture of the intersection in your dough, okay?” “Got it, Grandpa.” As the pair walked northeast across the small intersection toward the bakery, Hanan wondered how all this would come together.
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