Half my sundae spills on to the couch in another failed attempt to multi-task! I quickly move the laptop and wires over to salvage as much of the chocolate and cool-whip I can back into my bowl…three second rule, right? God doesn’t want me to get fat, I rationalize—that’s why He made me clumsy!
Shortly before we left for our honeymoon to Alaska, my dad’s parting words to my husband of less than twenty-four hours were: “Please. And I mean PLEASE! Don’t stand too close to the railing on the ship. [He chuckled through the remainder of his words] Because I don’t want…to get a call from the Port Authority telling me my new son-in-law is lost at sea!”
Today, thirteen years after my hubby survived the cruise, we are parents. God has blessed us with four beautiful, healthy, personality-packed princesses! Each of them, by virtue of genetic heredity or mere coincidence, has been endowed with a little dose of what we lovingly refer to as the “oops-a-daisy” gene. Lydia, my third daughter, single-handedly keeps the stock price of paper towels rising each morning when she pours orange juice on the table — darn that cup that moves out of the way! My second born, Nitha, changes her clothes quickly, often putting on mismatched clothes backwards, and brushes her teeth in record speed, leaving a ring of toothpaste suds on the edges of her mouth — all before I can say Rumpelstiltskin. When she has a clumsy moment, the result often costs more than a roll of paper towels.
Once, while I changed Sarah’s diaper, Nitha walked in my room with grape-sized tears: “I. Couldn’t. Hold. That. Many. Dishes. At. Once,” she said between heaving sobs.
“Did you break some dishes?” I already knew her answer.
“Yes,” she managed.
“Look. I can replace dishes. I can buy new ones. I can’t buy another Nitha. [Funny how you end up repeating what your parents said to you years later.] So don’t cry. We’ll clean it up. Together.”
“Okay.”
I wiped her tears while squeezing her tightly. Before we find the dust pan and went to work. Look at the bright side, I thought to myself. Two less dishes to wash.
I guess the story that summarizes the “clumsy” phenomenon best can be attributed to my firstborn, Hannah. A few years ago, my best friend gave me a fairly large decorative word sign that stood on its own. The wooden piece read, “GRACE.” She bought it for me, because she knows that’s my favorite word. A visual expression of what my life runs on: the daily fuel of God’s grace. Well, we hadn’t found a proper place for the woody reminder so we temporarily placed it on our bay window sill. Consequently, one day, while the girls played tag around the house, Hannah knocked the word over. A corner of the “E” in “GRACE” broke off. Hannah ran into the kitchen where I was washing dishes, lip quivering and eyes welling.
“Mommy, I’m so sorry. I broke the present that R. Auntie gave to you,” she choked out the words.
“What?” I screamed. “How’d that happen? I just got this!”
“I’m really sorry Mommy,” she whispered.
I told her to leave me alone. I needed space to calm down. She walked away, her shoulders sunken, dragging her feet and her heavy spirit to her bedroom. The word “GRACE” lay in two parts on the kitchen table.
As I finished the dishes, I knew I had no choice but to forgive her. It was just a sign after all. I found some Elmer’s glue and attempted to reattach the corner. It didn’t look half-bad, although upon close observation, one could see the crooked edge of the break in the “E”.
After I had steadied my breathing and had a heart-to-heart with Jesus, a light bulb turned on. The sign was perfect now. It’s imperfection made it perfect. The semi-repaired fracture inspired me to extend Grace to my kids, my spouse, and myself. I called Hannah back, hugged and thanked her. She looked confused. I attempted to explain my epiphany. She was thrilled; she wasn’t in trouble.
The sign now sits on the window sill behind the kitchen sink.
Out of the play zone.
Amazing Grace…
How sweet the sound…
That saved a klutz like me.
Once again.
Grace… is there a more beautiful word?
When I was a teen, my dad’s pet nickname for me was “Super Klutz”!! I still live up to it more often than I’d like. But I’ve found that I can be gracious without having to be graceful!
So thankful for God’s grace to both of us! So grateful to be an instrument of His grace to others…
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Love it!!