forgiveness

I stare at the last pot in the sink. I just can’t do it. I’m done. Beyond exhausted.

“Honey?” I ask, “would you please wash this last pot for me and get my coffee ready for the morning? I’m exhausted.”
“Sure, no problem. Good night!” He responds cheerfully from his perch in front of the television.

I double-check the crockpot—already getting hot. I’m making slow cooked bbq pork and bringing a meal to two families from church tomorrow. All I have to do in the morning is shred the pork, add the bbq sauce, and make a simple fruit salad. I’m getting a haircut at 9:30, so I plan to deliver the food early. It’s a busy day with my husband getting ready for a backpacking trip, but dropping off a simple meal should be no problem.

I sleep soundly, but when I wake up I notice right away: the house doesn’t smell like anything is cooking. I jump out of bed and race to the crockpot.

It’s unplugged.

I open the lid, incredulous. Warm, rotting meat with a lovely bbq rub stares back at me. “Honey?” I call out. My husband comes in and gasps. “I am so, so sorry.” He says.

And I know that he is sincere. He unplugged the crockpot to grind the coffee beans and forgot to plug it back in. It was an honest-to-goodness mistake that anyone could make. Even me, Miss Organized and Efficient.

I sit down at the kitchen table with my coffee and cry for about three minutes. And then I grab my notebook of summer meals and flip through it, looking for something that I have all of the ingredients for. Anything. Ah! Here it is! Low-fat Fettuccine Alfredo. And I’ve even got leftover chicken to throw in. I’ll turn the buns I bought for the bbq into garlic toast, and voila. Dinner.

With that decision done, I get to work. And then I make the most important decision of the day: the decision to forgive my husband. Not to just say “it’s okay,” but to forgive him. To let him off the hook. I ask him to grate the parmesan cheese for me, and I tell him I forgive him. The burden of anger lifts from my shoulders, and we work together to get back on-track with the day.

This morning he left at 5 a.m. for a week of backpacking in Yosemite. As I reflect on the events of yesterday morning, I am so glad I didn’t waste the day in anger and hostility and resentment.

Does grace live at your house? I am so grateful that it lives at mine.