One of the “baddest” of my bad days happened a few years ago. It was a Friday in December and, having made all necessary arrangements for my youngest son to stay longer at preschool, I planned to take the whole day–at least until 2 pm when I had to pick the kids up at school–to Christmas shop.
And you know how I love all things Christmas.
There was one catch in my plan: the satellite technician. He was due to come that morning to make some minor adjustments. No problem, I would be ready to hit the road just as soon as he finished his adjustments. The minor ones. That he would do in the morning.
I waited. And waited. And waited. Come, he did, but not in the morning. More like 2 pm, just in time for me to go pick the kids up at school.
So, frustrated because I like to be able to do what I planned to do, I leave the satellite guy to do his thing and I go to pick up my kids. As we were leaving the preschool parking lot, I back into a parked truck–slammed is more like it–shattering my rear windshield.
I wanted to hide.
I cried instead.
After a quick call to my husband confessing my misdeed with much wailing and gnashing of teeth and a trip to the body shop to get a ginormous piece of plastic to tape over what once was the rear windshield, I finally return home to find the satellite guy waiting to be paid.
“Um, I think your cat was sick or something all over the upstairs,” he tells me as I write the check.
I cry some more.
That night my husband gets a phone call. It’s our best friends. Calling to tell us they are moving. Several states away.
It was a bad day. And yesterday? It was a bad day as well. Reeling from a less than pleasant (to say the very least) evening at church the night before, my day was made complete by receiving a letter of chastisement (for lack of a better term) in the mail. It was anonymous, signed only “Disgusted.” With me and my husband, I presume.
It was naturally related to our current situation at church.
I was naturally shocked and hurt. Deeply, deeply hurt.
I naturally cried and cried nearly all afternoon.
I don’t know why I write to tell you this, certainly not to evoke sympathy for me nor to berate my anonymous pen pal. I’m still angry and hurt, I won’t lie to you, but the Holy Spirit has not only been convicting me of my anger and self pity. He is also showing me my bad day in its proper perspective.
A bad day for me is cat throw up and not getting to shop. Oh yeah, and crashing my vehicle. A bad day for many of my sisters and brothers around the globe include losing their homes or their jobs or in some cases their children, all because of their belief in Jesus Christ. Yes, even in the twenty first century believers suffer cruelly and are even martyred for their faith. Being misunderstood and their motives misrepresented are the least of their worries as they huddle for church in the dark of night to avoid detection.
And I cry over one piece of paper?
I do want to say that I acknowledge that some of you have experienced bad days of extreme heartbreak, losing a loved one for example. By no means do I intend to compare my silliness to your grief. Oh, but our God is good. We can trust that even in the most tragic and hurtful of circumstances, His grace abounds…