Dripping Faucet

It was a school day.

I was behind.

I slept through my morning routine and threw clean clothes onto my unshowered self.

I doused my hair with dry shampoo, ran a brush through my flat bed-head, and applied some make-up.

This is how you fool the world into thinking you have your act together.

You lazy bum.

I was down on myself for missing my quiet time and daily exercise. 

I dressed and groomed the three youngest. They were distracted and unmotivated, our routine had already taken longer than I would have liked.

I hurried downstairs to the kitchen, getting started on breakfast.

The sink was overflowing with dinner dishes because the dishwasher had malfunctioned the evening before.

I don’t especially like starting my day out behind. Kinda aggravates me.  Silly, I know.

I filled the coffee pot with water, dumped freshly ground beans into the basket, and hit start.  Things were beginning to look up. ;)


I began washing fruit. We would nourish ourselves with berries, yogurt, and granola before hitting the books.

As I stood there hulling strawberries, I recognized that my steady stream of water had decidedly become an inadequate trickle.

I sent Gavin to check the nearby bathroom sink…


I assumed it was a community water problem.  They must be working on something, I rationalized.

After declaring the produce ‘clean enough’, we ate breakfast.


Morning tummies were full and still no water.

I guess clean-up would have to wait.

No worries.  We’d completed schoolwork in the midst of mess before.  We were old pros at it actually.

I gathered workbooks and began to ponder whether this could possibly be a personal problem.


But I had just gone through the entire basket of mail…

I hadn’t seen any water bill.

I texted a quick inquiry to my love.

No response.

I instructed the kids not to flush the toilets unless absolutely necessary.


Then it dawned on me…

Sometimes Duff brought bills up to his office.

I took the stairs two-at-a-time and found 3 water bills lying on a little wall shelf, obviously forgotten.

The first had been paid.

The second carried a balance.

The third stated that the ‘amount due’ must be paid by such-and-such a date or else water would be shut off without further notice.


It became quite clear that we had missed our payment 3 days prior.

Duff had obviously thrown the bills up on the shelf, clearing his desk for work, and then completely forgotten about them.

It was an oversight.

Yet I really wanted someone to blame.


I tried to pay the bill online without success.

I needed to call and pay by telephone because the account was ‘past due’.

The $50 disconnection fee was yet another slap in the face.

I was told our utilities would be restored later that afternoon.


We had no water.

We had no working toilets.

We had no shower.

I yearned to hold someone responsible.


I was aggravated and annoyed that I had been inconvenienced, and was concerned that other things were being overlooked.

I carried that frustration beneath my skin all day.

When my darling husband arrived home that night at 9:30, after a long day of work followed by wrestling practice, I acted a bit aloof.

Next I vented.

I made him very aware of the trouble he had caused me.  I suggested we come up with a better bill paying system.

I expected some kind of an apology.


He felt attacked and criticized for a simple mistake.  He did not want to be held responsible for an unintentional blunder.

I was too tired to speak another word, never mind have a meaningful conversation that night.

I went to bed angry.

I positioned myself on the furthermost edge of the bed with my back turned toward him.

I would risk falling out of bed before accidentally brushing up against that man.


I woke early the next morning, looked at him slumbering over yonder, and realized I was still plenty exasperated.

I made hot tea.  I read a morning devotional about the attributes of God, actually praying to become more like Him, all the while holding onto my anger.

I walked 2 miles at a brisk pace while listening to awesome worship music and still the unforgiveness remained.

I whisked through our bedroom and jumped in the shower.

I was determined to stay silent and continue giving him the cold shoulder until he made things right.

I rinsed the shampoo from my hair and unexpected words struck me…


Disarm yourself.

Stop standing your ground.

You pray for a personality that would begin to more closely reflect my own but then you carry around unforgiveness.

Where is the grace and love that I have shown you?


I was so tremendously convicted in that moment.

How could I?

How could I?

This wasn’t even anything to forgive.  It was a simple, unintentional oversight.  A mistake.


And yet I struggled to wipe the slate clean.

I failed to show the man I claim to love most any shred of grace.

The man who works and toils to provide,

who loves and supports,

who has always been dependable and trustworthy,

and there for me in anything and everything.

I failed to show him grace and love.


I am pathetic.

I am nothing apart from You.

Forgive me?

Please forgive my unforgiveness.





Speak Your Mind