I handled the situation badly. I chose bad words, bad actions, and worse - I punched back. I'm lower than pond scum.
Can I just go to bed, pull the covers up over my head, cry some more, and then try waking up again? This time I would know to duck or take a deep breath and slowly let it out. Count to ten - maybe even not get up at all. Yep. That would do it. Not get up at all.
Even He's Too Good To Me could not fix this today. And believe me, there is not much he can't fix. Just a wink and a touch does the work of dozens of bandages on my wounded heart. Today it wasn't wounded, though. It was pulled out, stomped on, and thrust back in. Just a shadow of its former self.
It is not what happened, it is how I handled it. Just pick a parasite.
Any will do. Name it Rie.
But then . . .
Delia and Shelby made me a cake. A cake can't match He's Too Good To Me's embrace. But this one was different. This is a hard cake to make. One of those "candy ball stage correct temperature can't get the icing right" kind of cakes. Made from scratch. Melt in your mouth. Made by both my babies' gentle hands.
Who raised them? Surely not pond scum or parasites. I'm not sure where they came from, I don't deserve them.
On a day life throws sucker punches one should try not to behave like a malicious flesh eating parasite. But if one does it helps to be loved anyway. It helps to see Jesus in others, even when you can't see Him in yourself. It's a soft reminder that tomorrow you may be . . .
But for today just let me go back to bed, after a piece of cake - and some humble pie.
