“Hey
mom, something’s dripping.”
I
followed my son’s voice to the living room and saw that the pool of water that
had formed on the ledge of our Palladian window was waterfalling down the
window frame and splashing onto the hardwood floor. Outside, raindrops slapped onto the glass
and the wind whooshed through the opening that betrayed the dry warmth of our
house. I got some towels and mopped up
the water, stuffed one into the leak, and instructed the kids to continue
getting ready for school. This would
have to wait; it would soon be time to go.
Later,
a couple of internet searches revealed a few things. The leak fix would most likely not be costly,
amounting to little more than a line of silicone caulking around the outside of
the window. I exhaled in relief. I imagined tens of thousands of dollars in
window replacements, black mold, the façade of our house crumbling. I am nothing if not a little theatrical. This was feasible. Most troublesome was that the fix could only
be applied when the rain stopped, and it was forecasted to continue all
day.
Through
the next several hours the leak got worse, and I thought of the truth that
water will find a path of least resistance and continue until the source stops,
creating something new in the process. I
thought of wide river beds, stalactites, the Grand Canyon. What would happen here?
I
wadded up more towels to stem the flow and put the now wet ones in the
dryer. My mild alarm about the leak turned
to fear. What do I do? I can’t stop the rain. My feelings surged. I was scared, confused about what to do, and angry.
My
husband was out of town for work on the other side of the country. Although he maintains that traveling for work
is not as glamorous as it seems, the idea that he was sleeping in a warm hotel
room, all of his needs taken care of, meals served and bed made, and it was
even warm and sunny there, for the love of everything holy, made me jealous and angry. He wasn’t dealing with this. He never
dealt with this. These things always
happen when he’s conveniently away, peacefully oblivious and blissfully unable
to help.
Hateful
thoughts mingled with the fearful prayers I hastily threw God’s way. Please stop this rain. Please help me do this.
The
next hour was spent hauling our impossibly heavy metal ladder out of the
garage, locating a roll of plastic sheeting, trying to figure out how to attach
it to the outside of our stone-covered house in the driving wind and rain, finally using the flat edge of a screwdriver to push the plastic into the crack that I could now see was the
culprit. The wind threatened to blow me
off my slippery perch, and as I braced myself, soaked in jeans, boots, and a
winter coat, my hands red and raw, I was determined.
And
mad.
Obscenities
and declarations of “I hate everything” filled the texts I wrote to my husband later
to tell him what was going on. It was
early morning where he was. I imagined
his sleepy face, his calm walk to the shower, to breakfast, to golf – whatever it
was he would be doing that day, only being concerned with himself. I hated the rain, our house, the stupid
window, his job, my life.
I
was an awful sinner that day.
My
anger found the path of least resistance, and it spilled out into my thoughts,
my words, my behavior. I was not
gracious, or peaceful, or calm, or Jesus-y.
Those things were too hard. It
was easier being jealous, hateful, and angry.
Like a trickle of water eventually carving a wide riverbed, anger was transforming me into a nasty, mean person.
At
the end of that day, I was exhausted.
But the beauty of life is changing perspective: the house did not
crumble, and the water slowed down enough so that I could keep ahead of
it. It was not supposed to rain heavily
for the next few days, allowing our house to dry out so that I could seal the
crack. I humbly asked for forgiveness then,
and I know God absolved me of my sins, just as he promised he would through
Jesus’ sacrifice, just as he promises he will for the rest of my life.
I
feel bad about my attitude that day – a terrible consequence of sin is the
memory of it. It haunts us, reminding us
of how low we can go. But God forgives,
and despite my sin, my path of least resistance, he has healed me and wiped me
clean with the blood of Jesus. I am so
grateful. My work is in trying to do
better next time, in sinning no more.
*******
Don’t you realize that this is not the way to
live? Unjust people who don’t care about God will not be joining in his
kingdom. Those who use and abuse each other, use and abuse sex, use and abuse
the earth and everything in it, don’t qualify as citizens in God’s kingdom. A
number of you know from experience what I’m talking about, for not so long ago
you were on that list. Since then, you’ve been cleaned up and given a fresh
start by Jesus, our Master, our Messiah, and by our God present in us, the
Spirit. 1 Corinthians 6:9-11 (The
Message)
Jesus was left alone with the
woman standing before him. Jesus stood up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She
said, “No one, Lord.” And Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more.” John 8: 9-11 (ESV)
So true...most often I find myself in sin when I just go with the path of least resistance. Healthy choices in life are almost always the ones that seem to require the most work, don't they? And I'm so very bad at being a disciplined person... I really appreciated your honest authenticity in your post...we've all been there, and I always appreciate when people just admit it. Like this... "Obscenities and declarations of “I hate everything” filled the texts I wrote to my husband later to tell him what was going on." Yep...totally have been there! And always thankful for forgiveness and grace when I look back on it and cringe.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing!
Thanks, Jessi! Healthy everything is always the harder choice. Someday I'm going to find that fact un-ironic and it will make total sense. For now, though, there's a question mark above my head. Why is chocolate so yummy if it is bad for me? Why is anger so easy if it is so harmful to my relationships? The lessons are obvious, but I'd really like to see how I'd do if the choices were easier.
DeleteI read this last night and wanted to comment but was feeling discouraged about something else so I didn't. But let me just say, I relate. I relate!
ReplyDeleteDiscouragement clouds so much, doesn't it? I'm sort of glad that you can relate, even though it means that you've been to this place where I find myself so often. It's not so comfy there. xo
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