“I told you not to eat too much junk food! Hold on.” God help me, she murmured under her breath. Wasn’t Christmastime supposed to be relaxing?
The bathroom was a mess. Apparently, her darling Annie hadn’t quite made it to the toilet, and even worse, she had gotten some of what appeared to be regurgitated brownies in her wee pigtails, too. This scene was getting worse by the moment. Sally’s mind kept transporting her back to the kitchen she had just left behind, the one with the ham in the oven and several cooking pots on the stove. I don’t care how cute she is, this little girl’s going to hear it if my meal gets messed up. She had been carefully planning the meal, every detail, down to the place settings and the festive loops hanging on the bottom of the wine flutes. In her mind’s eye she’s already imagining a full glass of Pinot Noir. She’s grateful it’s only brownies that have made her daughter sick - could be worse. She experiences a mental shudder thinking about Annie’s lack of self-control and that someday she’ll be a teenager with access to more toxic substances, like alcohol, no matter how hard she might try to warn her against the idea.
Sally turns to Annie, “Did you get it all out?” Her eyes tell the whole story to the little girl standing beside the tub - we’re going to deal with this later.
“I think so.” Annie adds a little manufactured despondence to her countenance in a last ditch effort to mitigate her mom’s wrath. Like every fleshly child, she doesn’t want to receive what she deserves. It’s not like she doesn’t remember her mom explicitly telling her, “Stay away from the brownies, you’ve already had enough. You’ll get sick.” She remembers, alright - all ten or more warnings. She’s young, though, so she doesn’t give it much thought, she just wants someone to take away the belly ache now. Her mind gets twisted around the fact that the same person she’s offended is the one she wants comfort from. If her dad were home from work already, she’d play the sympathy card with him, seeking some kind of solace in his distance from the situation. She’d rush to him before news of her disobedience got to him. She’d take advantage of time. She’d cry a few extra crocodile tears into her daddy’s neck and gain an ally. But none of that was possible - he wasn’t there.
In the few minutes it takes Sally to clean up the bathroom floor, the corner of the vanity, and the toilet bowl - my goodness, how many brownies did my little rascal consume? - she frets for allowing herself to get spun up in a frenzy. History has shown that when it’s her turn to host the gathering she inevitably takes on more than she can handle. Every year, once everyone’s partied out and gone to tuck their own families to bed, she concludes that it wasn’t worth it. While she could blame her not-so-innocent child, redirecting her inner anger, she knows that wouldn’t be right. Maybe God is trying to convince her of what she already knows to be true deep down inside. She remembers a verse from the Bible she heard her pastor teach this morning.
For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
— Luke 12:34
On her knees in front of the toilet, Sally contemplates her life in that moment, how the stir of chaos and emotions during the holidays is really just a microcosm of life, itself. She likens it to a pimple being squeezed and the grotesque pus that oozes out, requiring cleanup not a whole lot unlike the one she’s presently tending to. She reflects back upon the decisions she’s made over the years, each one carefully plotted. She’s a self-described control freak, even posited that this gives her an advantage over her peers. Heck, it seemed to work throughout high school and college, where she excelled. It also seems to have worked in her landing the husband of her dreams. But were her dreams and God’s the same? Were her dreams even fair to hold over anyone else’s head? Looking back as if viewing her past down a long corridor, was following the misguided advice from her feminist mother the wisest thing to do? “You don’t need anyone…cut your own path,” she’d say. Years later she’d find out that her mother was a closet agnostic. In retrospect, with the wafting smell of puke singeing the insides of her nostrils, she wonders…about all of it…about all the ill-conceived advice she’d taken.
How did she end up here, not utterly depressed or beaten, just solemn? Her plans, though well thought out - some might say fool proof - were proving folly the older she got. Is this all a part of God’s patient planning??? Is this how wisdom is gained? She’s beginning to see the forest through the trees. Interesting that it occurs while facing a porcelain bowl meant to catch and flush human excrement. Maybe that’s what she ought to do with her so-called “plans”, and everything for that matter, that causes her anxiety and pain - flush it all!
Wisdom smashes our plans to smithereens.
Sally remembers her beloved pastor saying this earlier, too. At the time, she was barely paying attention, preoccupied with last minute adjustments and thoughts about the evening’s celebration. The Spirit must’ve ensured I kept this pearl in my soul. Thank you, Lord! She began to recognize how the Holy God of the Universe was going to use this situation for good - evil for good, yes, evil for good. She recalls one of her favorite verses, “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28). She sinks a little deeper into her heels. It’s true. My little girl is a visual aid that He’s using right now. While I chastise her for disobeying, I ought to be confessing my own sin to my Father in Heaven. I’m the one who’s chosen the path I’m on. I’m the one with the control issues. I’m the one who has ignored the good counsel of the Word, even when it came forth a little frothy from the pulpit (she chuckles a little when she recalls the reason why she sits in the third row - her pastor’s spittle only makes it to the second). I’m responsible for my current situation. God never lies. For what a person sows, that is what they reap, right? God help me accept the truth about myself.
“But when I look, there is no one,
And there is no counselor among them
Who, if I ask, can give an answer.
“Behold, all of them are false;
Their works are worthless,
Their molten images are wind and emptiness.”
— Isaiah 41:28-29
She needs to hurry up now. She’s not sure how long she’s drifted and she thinks she smells something burning from the direction of the kitchen. She calls to her daughter, but there’s a commotion at the front door drowning out her voice. Her daughter has met her husband before he’s even had a chance to remove his coat, wrapping her arms and legs around him. Sally would rather not plop this little episode on her husband’s lap right now, so she resigns to picking up the pace. Stall him, Annie, even though I know what you’re up to. Maybe she can finish, stow her gloves, apron, and cleaner and greet him before he’s none the wiser. For now, she’ll keep the heartfelt aspects of this moment between God and her. She’ll keep it intimate until He directs her otherwise, which may be never. Who knows. One step at a time.
Sally emerges from down the hall and the kitchen is filled with thick smoke. Her husband and daughter are just standing there, wide-eyed, not sure whether to state the obvious or wait for their beloved wife and mother to bark out commands like she typically would in stressful situations like this one. Nothing comes, not even a peep. Instead, Sally calmly walks over to the stove and turns every dial down, then to the oven and turns it off, not even opening the door because she already knows that it’s the ham emitting the smoke that’s making her family’s eyes water. Instead of fulfilling the cringeworthy expectations of her family, she turns to them and says, “I love you two so much.” Tension melts. Not all is lost.
In the hour or so before their guests arrive the triad, in their determination, is able to toss everything burnt out, clear the kitchen of smoke, and set a lovely, though unexpectedly small spread on the table. Tomorrow Sally would receive several calls, complementing her on the simplicity of the bounty they all enjoyed. Her older sister, the one who introduced her to her church, would tell her that it was really good to see Sally relaxed this time around, confessing it was a pleasant surprise. She’d also receive a text message from that same sister:
For a child will be born to us, a son will be given to us;
And the government will rest on His shoulders;
And His name will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Eternal Father, Prince of Peace.
— Isaiah 9:6
That night, all night, Sally kept smiling. Her secret, unexpected bathroom interlude remained between her and the One she truly loved the most. Her pocket-sized lesson was growing roots and already bearing good fruit. She was finally “getting it,” finally beginning to realize the magnanimity of Christ’s work in her. Most importantly, she was beginning to understand God’s unerring love for her. His is the voice of wisdom. She listens all night and He reminds her that He loves her and has everything under control. It’s funny how life works, how You work, Lord. I’m sorry I try to take control from You. I’m sorry I make my own plans without consulting You. I’m sorry I take the counsel of others as gold when You are always available with perfect advice. I’m sorry I ever doubt You.
Every so often, her husband would catch his wife gazing off, pensive. He was happy for her, having already witnessed the fruit of whatever God was doing in her. He didn’t want to press her or interrupt her, so he enjoyed her from a distance. He’d find a way to encourage her later, remind her that he didn’t marry her for her cooking abilities, however substantial they may be. He married her because of that glint in her eye - the same one he was seeing now, from across the room. He attributes it to Christ. As he sat there, loving her from twenty feet away, he hummed to himself, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine…” He was blessed and he knew it. The grace that he beheld so dearly on his wife’s face was now reflecting from his own. This is how grace works - it’s contagious, like love. He was beaming along with Sally…
Seizing the moment, Annie says coyly, “Daddy, I threw up.” Well played, little girl...well played.
Love in Christ,
Ed Collins
