The Bathroom is on Fire, Much Water is Needed
I was ticked at my husband last Monday. Not anything major, just irritated enough to be a bit vengeful. So when I went to sign both of us up for volunteer slots at the gymnastics meet that Saturday, I signed him up for face painting and bathroom clean-up (I registered myself for Coffee Cart.) Not the most loving thing I did all week, but it did make me feel better.
Of course, as is always the case with vengeance, it backfired on me. I spent the entire Meet listening to all the other moms rave about how wonderful he is. “Thank you so much for bringing him” . . . “he is so funny, cute, charming, etc” . . . “aren’t you just so lucky.” Apparently any man who knows how to draw a mustache and use a toilet brush is worth his weight in gold.
Don’t get me wrong, I totally agree that he IS wonderful. It just makes it really hard to hold a grudge.
Also working to dispel my anger was what happened Saturday night. My husband fell asleep where, for a good half hour, he processed his entire day completely passed out and very much out loud. It was an episode easily described as Gymnastics Meet PTSD.
After ranting about having to get bananas when bananas grow in the forest, confessing to stealing mints off the judges table, and describing in great detail the beautiful wings he is going to grow someday; he began speaking in Spanish. “El bano es en fuego. Mas agua necessito,” he cried out. Followed by high-pitched laughter that sent tears rolling off the tip of his nose.
I baited him as he lapsed back into a deep sleep.
“Why is that funny, ” I asked.
“It just is,” he explained, “if you are having a bad day it makes everything better.” . . . “You can’t say it in German, though,” he continued, “you have to say it in Spanish because it has a little zing.” More laughter followed.
Luckily, my iPhone sat bedside and I was able to get the whole event on film.
By morning, all my animosity was gone, as I showed him the video I captured the night before. Having a great sense of humor about himself, he allowed me to put it on Facebook for all our friends to enjoy. Which they, by all means, did.
Truly my husband’s greatest flaw is that he is impossible to stay mad at. He is able to laugh at himself, allows me to vent in any way I need to, and rises to every occasion. The minute I remember the kind of person he is, it is impossible to hold against him the things that he does.
For this same reason, the only way to truly be angry with God is to genuinely forget who He is. It would be so easy to shake my fist at the heavens when I witness the wicked prosper while the beautiful suffer and wither under debilitating illness. I could turn my back on all Divinity when I see the innocent starve while the nasties fill their bellies. I could cast glares of animosity towards all thoughts of the Creator when I feel the pain of this life having done all that I could to live well. I could, if I could also only forget that He is loving, and merciful, and makes all things beautiful in His time.
To rue the broken places, I must forget that He is the restorer of all things.
For when I remember His beauty and His grace, I cannot keep my anger for even a second. He is wonderful, and that is enough. The bathroom might be on fire, but God is still good.