I had been having a tough time sleeping that week. Hibernation mode had caught up to me shortly after Groundhog Day but unlike the little varmints (gophers) who were still napping on our acreage, I had a hard time catching the “Z’s” necessary to function at peak performance. It was equally frustrating when I couldn’t seem to find time for a good power nap through the day either. So there were some days that didn’t go as well as I had originally planned.
Take for instance, that fateful Saturday night…
I appreciate my teens unloading and loading the dishwasher. In fact, I don’t usually complain about them not putting dishes away in the same cupboards the dishes originally came from because I’m just glad they’re doing the task at all. Unfortunately sometimes that means I have to go hunting for some kitchen utensil or glassware that has somehow gone “missing”, but usually it’s just been put in another drawer or cupboard. Such was the case that Saturday. I looked into my glassware cupboard and discovered a plethora of mismatched glasses and my OCD cut in and I just had to make it right!
The problem was lack of sleep had caused me to not think things through as well as I should have. I am short-statured so I stand on this handy-dandy little foot stool that I keep in the kitchen whenever I need to reach high shelves. I should have known that balancing on a stool, and reaching into high cupboards when my reaction time was less than optimal was likely not a good idea but still I pushed on. Now, my husband, bless his heart, could hear my OCD ramblings from his station in front of the T.V. in the family room, but he did not register my grumblings enough to realize that I might just need his assistance. I hinted, complained rather,…loudly…but he just wasn’t getting it.
Anyway, sensing I was alone in this task, I climbed up on my little foot stool and balancing on tip toe I moved a glass. My sleep-deprived body reacted far too late to prevent the catastrophic event that happened next. Before I knew it, a long-stemmed glass tipped over somewhere in the far recesses at the back of the cupboard. Of course I could not reach it in time and I was helpless to prevent the domino effect that rippled through all the other glasses as they began to tumble unconstrained from the cupboard. I made a valiant effort to juggle a few in my outstretched arms, but with my balance being precarious, my reflexes iffy, all I was able to muster was a blood-curdling scream, and just duck the waterfall of glassware!
It only took a few seconds but I’m convinced a bull in a china shop wouldn’t have wrecked as much damage. As I stood on my footstool in shock at the glass carnage around me I heard a small voice calmly call from the family room, “Honey, why didn’t you wait for me to help you out?”
I love the man, but seriously?
At that point I was just too tired, too miserable and too shell-shocked to respond in a way to my sweetie that would have been…let’s just say…less than edifying. Instead, inexplicably, I held my tongue, and refused to allow myself to respond to him in the manner my sin nature wanted me to at that moment. I merely grabbed my broom and swept up the carnage. Later, I couldn’t help but giggle when I came across this scripture:
“A fool gives full vent to his anger, but a wise man keeps himself under control.” Proverbs 29:11
I can’t say I have always reacted that same way as I did that night. Let’s just say, it’s a daily struggle to not allow my emotions to overtake me and say or do something that results in much more than broken glass. The point of course is that my usual response, sleep-deprived or not, is to make matters worse by playing the blame game for some of life’s little “catastrophes”, some of which I inadvertently cause due to my impetuous and rash judgment. Some others are caused by someone else or through an out-of-my-control life circumstance. That particular night I soooo wanted to lash out at my sweet husband rather than just admit I should have waited for him to “help me”. I could have avoided the glass cascade had I done that, however, on that particular Saturday night, I was too impatient and could not blame anyone else but myself for the mess that ensued. However, I still wanted to blame someone (my husband) for the disaster, as was my habit, but quite uncharacteristically of me, I showed self-control and did not allow my bad temper to take over. The result was that all I damaged that day was a bunch of glasses, but our hearts were left intact.