“Why do you always have to do that?” he asks, his words cutting deep.
I’m at the counter cutting chicken for plates and I whip around so that we’re face to face.
“What’s your problem? I didn’t do anything?” I fire back.
“Yes, you did. You always cut me off. You said you don’t have time for this,” he says. He’s agitated, short with me and I flash white-hot in my own self-righteous anger.
“I was talking about the chicken needing a few more minutes to cook,” I snap at him.
His shoulders relax and I see him breathe. “Sorry,” he says, softly.
He shuffles out of the kitchen and I serve dinner. We eat in less than ten minutes and then the kids ask to be excused. It’s still light out and the kids from the neighborhood are on the porch, waiting, so I let them go.
Thad and I look at one another from across the dirty dinner table. It’s Tuesday and we find ourselves alone in the house and the quiet is a gift.
“What’s my deal?” he asks. I just shrug my shoulders.
We make light of the earlier small fire in the kitchen and I listen to him talk out his day. We laugh loud and all is well again. He gets a phone call, so I rise to clear the table, eager to bring order to my house.
I scrape the 8 plates and put away one plate of leftovers for his lunch tomorrow. I run the sink full of steaming water. Suds lather on the dishes and it’s a sanctuary. I meet God here in the dirty water and I talk a blue streak using no audible words. He listens. I rinse dishes clean and stack them on the towels beside the sink. Eight glasses make a pyramid and if I move even one, the whole lot tumbles.
And pride comes before the fall.
I hear it as clear as day and I cease the stream of quiet conversation with God. He’s listened and now He’s spoken.
I run the water out of the sink and wipe down counters.
It’s our ‘deal’.
This church planting is serving to bring out every ugly bone in our bodies.
It is stripping us of every single thought of We can do it God, and maybe You can help.
We are stumbling through life doing things that make no sense at all.
We spend our days in the business of relationship building and disciple making and we wonder all the while, Do these people even like us?
We feel inadequate and insecure and if I’m honest, quite idiotic most all the time.
We lash out at one another in last-ditch efforts to preserve our last ounces of self-respect…pride.
And we clinch our fists and bang on one another and all the while He stands there, His hands outstretched, asking for the last thing we long to hang onto…