I should have been paying more attention.
That’s pretty much my go-to excuse nowadays for my forgetfulness, missed appointments, unfinished projects or not following the procedure I should have known to follow.
This, however, was pure unadulterated thoughtlessness.
I have this habit of not closing cabinets. Because I’m slightly vertically challenged, many of the open doors don’t bother me.
The ones I leave open at eye level I’ve learned to avoid by–well–seeing them. Rather than close them, I walk around them.
Habit. Not a good one, but most definitely a learned behavior.
John isn’t so crazy about this. He’s run into my open cabinets. Often.
Guess he wasn’t looking.
The other day I was walking through the kitchen. Reading my Kindle. I’m in the middle of a great book on the Civil War, Michael Shaara’s 1974 epic, The Killer Angels. It’s the account of the leaders on both sides of the war at the battle of Gettysburg. Who they were and how they led in the bloodiest battle ever fought on American soil.
I was enthralled. I love history. I’m enjoying this book.
And I wasn’t looking where I was going.
I ran into a cabinet. And it broke.
My initial response was, “John will kill me.” I knocked this puppy from the wrong side. It cracked half the length of the cabinet.
I knew we had wood glue somewhere. I searched the house and garage and finally found it.
All dried up.
I found this bottle of Gorilla Glue on John’s desk. Reading the label (which I do on occasion) I saw it could fix most surfaces. Including wood.
So I tried it. Figured I could fix it and not let him see that it broke. Thought I could avoid that conversation all together.
No such luck. What the bottle didn’t say was that it would puff up like some viral infestation and harden like it was diseased.
There was no hiding this. No minimizing the damage done.
I had to own it.
To my husband’s credit, he was kind. No “I told you so” comments.
I think he expected this to happen. Some day.
The unbroken cabinet is the picture of what I want life to be. My reality is that I’m broken and have poorly glued myself together.
I don’t always engage life with eyes wide open. I try things that may be questionable. I pursue things because they look good to me. I want what I want when I want it.
The veneer cracks and my brokenness shows.
God knows my weaknesses. My tendency to make wrong choices. To push beyond what is good for me. He sees when another little piece of me shatters. And doesn’t want me to stay fragmented.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those whose spirits are crushed.” Psalm 34:18
“He restores my soul; He guides me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.” Psalm 23:3
God alone can heal what’s broken in me. His love and compassion make my soul whole. He gives real life to my heart.
When He makes things whole, He does it with class.
Restored and refinished.
I’m not knocking that truth.
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