Accidents Happen

It was feasibly the worst thing I felt I could have done on my husband's birthday. Backing out of the driveway, oh-so-carefully with the minivan (only a week into our ownership), I scraped a snowbank. Nothing really to fret about, since we do live in Michigan and snowbanks are a regular part of our world. But upon getting into my car a little bit later I noticed something didn't look quite right about the car. The slow motion, no-big-deal snowbank scrape had damaged the car, popping out the front bumper and its corresponding fog light.

Mind you we had just taken a car to the service garage less than a week ago with the car we were supposed to sell. Now I was headed back to the garage again, this time with the new car. It was the worst situation I could have imagined. And all on my husband's birthday.

Long story short, it was a miserable day for me in which I tried to fix the situation before telling him so that telling him about the situation wouldn't be as painful. But I could not, and when he finally arrived home on what was to be his special day, I had to break the news. He took it amazingly well. "Accidents happen" he told me. Then we had fajita-rita night and all was well.

Until the next morning. I hadn't let him see the car yet because I wanted to let it go on his birthday night, and he agreed. So the next morning, before heading out to work, I sent him out to warm up the car and to assess the damage for himself. He came back in, hugged me and told me he loved me. Apparently in all of the trauma the day before I had left a sliding door open and drained the battery. He headed back out to the garage, on a cold, dark morning to fumble his way underneath the hood of our new car to find the battery location and jump it. Strike two. I apologized profusely, but he said it wasn't necessary. "Accidents happen" he reminded me.

Fast forward a few days. My oldest son, who wakes up a bit cantankerous in the morning, begged me to play the computer. It was too early to argue, and I wanted nothing more than a long, hot, uninterrupted shower, so I logged him on and went upstairs. Upon returning downstairs, he calmly informed me he had an accident. The soaking wet pajama pants and puddle on the computer chair confirmed his claim. I was angry and irritated. He knew better. He had just been too lazy to stop playing the computer and go to the bathroom. I grabbed him out of the chair and hastily pulled off his sopped pants and underwear. He begged me to let him stay in his pajamas, and I snapped back that it was no longer an option. I turned the computer off despite his pleas to keep playing and marched him upstairs for breakfast. There I banged items and stomped around and grunted at my son. It didn't make me feel better, but I was equally as sure that letting it go wasn't the answer either. I wasn't yelling at him, but I definitely sent a message that I wasn't pleased. Meanwhile, he continued to sniffle sadly through breakfast, sad about his pajama pants, the loss of the computer and his now grumpy mom.

I should have let it go, but I couldn't. Until my son took a deep breath, stopped crying for a moment, looked me straight in the eyes and clearly shouted at me "Mom, accidents happen! They do! They do."

Ouch. A shot right to the heart. Throughout the entire car catastrophy I had been so grateful to have been shown such grace by my husband, realizing that yelling at me wasn't going to make the situation any better. And yet, when I was given my opportunity, I could not respond with the same maturity and love. I was ashamed, disappointed. I stopped what I was doing, walked over to where he was sitting, hugged him tightly and apologized as honestly as I could. Yes, accidents do happen, and I'm sorry I made a bad situation worse. He forgave me, managed to muster a weak smile, and continued eating breakfast. I gave him another pair of pajama pants to wear in order to right the situation, but for me it wasn't enough. I failed my test, and I wasn't sure when I would get another. I just hope and pray that I will be ready the next time I am given an opportunity to show grace.

Thank you Lord, for lessons of humility.