I was backing out of the garage, minding my own business, when I heard a terrible sound. You know, the one that can't possibly mean anything good. I looked to my right and sure enough, there was the boys stroller, slightly mangled. Ugh!
The stroller that started out just inside the garage was now just outside of it with one wheel bent at a very unnatural angle. In a hurry to reach my friend's house before she had guests, I decided to continue over there and assess the damage to the stroller when I returned.
Not. A. Good. Plan.
I was near the location of my closed-head injury, not a quarter of a mile from my house, when I started hearing another not-too-good sound. I pulled into the nearest driveway and got out to take a look. I thought it sounded like I was dragging a branch, something not unusual when you live where I do.
No such luck.
I made my way around the car when I came to the corner that caught on the stroller...
That thing I heard dragging was my wheel well. It was caught under the tire, which was wearing a hole through it. Uh oh...
I knew enough to immediately turn around and get back home, where I could further assess the damage.
Oh, this was so not good. The quarter panel was now separated from the piece that goes all the way around the front. The stroller was now the least of my worries; this was looking like a big deal.
I began to think back to try to figure out what happened. (I had several long hours to think about it before I had a chance to mention it to my husband.) The stroller was always up against the wall and I always backed straight out...
"Maybe I turned my wheel too soon," I thought. This is definitely a possibility (probability?) since there's still a small pile of gravel in the driveway (left over from our new fire pit) that I needed to avoid. Then just as quickly, I remembered what happened the day before. My daughter came over with "Dude" and "Bubba" so we could take them for their first visit to Lake Michigan.
As they were getting into my car, Mama mentioned that Dude had helped himself to the cereal puffs that I kept in the stroller for "emergencies." (I've learned most "emergencies" one- and two-year-olds suffer from can be remedied with either a new diaper or cereal puffs.)
I am a horrible, horrible grandma, because the next thing I thought of was, "Dude did it!" Really, what kind of grandma puts the blame on a defenseless two-year-old? While it's very likely he moved the stroller when he was getting the puffs, I was the one driving and I was the one old enough to know I should always be watching where I'm going.
Does your mind do this too, always look for an out?
Do you think, "This certainly can't be my fault, which means it must be someone else's," even if that someone else is a two-year-old?
An honest witness does not deceive, but a false witness pours out lies. ~ Proverbs 14:5
Our society isn't big on taking responsibility or telling the truth, is it? Everything is always someone else's fault. We may think we're fooling everyone when we're being dishonest; sometimes we're so convincing we fool ourselves. But God is never fooled.
He reveals deep and hidden things; he knows what lies in darkness, and light dwells with him. ~ Daniel 2:22
Where do you struggle with the truth?
- in taking responsibility?
- in filing your income taxes?
- in your resume?
- in how you spend your time?
- in reporting your age/weight?
- in giving your whereabouts?
- in telling about that fish you caught?
God is the Truth and He wants us to tell the truth, every last bit of it. While it was disappointing that the thought of blaming Dude for my mishap even entered my mind, I'm thankful I recognized it for what it was and didn't act on that impulse, even if no one would have known, because God always knows.
Father, I thank you for the great patience you show to me. I thank you that you never give up on me but continue to transform me into your image. Purify my thoughts and intentions, so that in times of distress my first response will be pleasing to you.
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