The Fruit of Failure

Last night Jeff asked me what had been on my mind lately, what I was learning and so forth. I responded, “It’s so good for us when we try something that’s too hard for us and we fail.”

I’m neck-deep in this commitment to thanksgiving–writing down my gifts, sharing them on weekends, looking at every situation for how it is a hidden kiss of God. It is the most beautifully addictive and joyfully intoxicating exercise.  It changes everything.  But it opens to me a new higher plain of life, which makes the old, lower plain more painfully clear, and repulsive.

We thank God for everything and in it we are welcomed into this new realm of joy. And in that joy we want to stay. We’re braced for a true tragedy, braced to believe God is good through it all.  But somehow while I’m braced for true tragedy, eyes peeled, face like flint, the reality of teeny tiny annoyances and everyday irritations secretly siphon all that joy so slowly that I don’t notice until next thing I know I’m back in the mire of ingratitude.  Deflated, shrunken, empty. How did I get here?

So I retrace my steps.

I start out the morning good. So good. My beloved early Wednesday morning prayer meeting.  Brimming with thanksgiving.  Consistency with the kids. Persevering in joy when Dutch is grumpy. Not becoming a pushover but remaining firm.  Our day’s plans change.  Ok, that’s great. We can adjust. Jeff isn’t feeling well so he might come home sick later. Ok, we can figure that out. Heidi pees on the couch.  I’m so thankful it’s so easy to clean!  We get several calls of interest in our bedroom set (we’re selling). Great, I can coordinate this.  I sit with Heidi in the bathroom, reading, waiting, singing.  Phone rings so I let her up to play.  Talk to Jeff for a minute, turn around, she’s peeing on the carpet. No worries! So glad we have brown carpet. It’s easy to clean.  I take her upstairs to get clean clothes and find her kitchen toys are left out I tell her to pick up all the toys while I brush my teeth and get dressed.  Five minutes later I come back and her door is shut.  Uh oh. I know before I even open it. She’s had the urge and was naked and didn’t know what to do.  Poop all over the carpet. Her room reeks. Deep breath. Ok! So glad again that our carpet is brown.  Dump her in the tub, begin to rinse. She’s grabs a measuring cup bathtoy and while I’m scrubbing her bottom she inadvertently flings up the cup (full of poopy water) and drenches my face and hair.

Are you kidding me? Her face is stricken, I know it is an accident.  Deep breath. Ok, everything smells like poop now. Ok. Rejoicing. Gratitude. I’m so thankful that we have a steam-cleaner. I wipe off my face and hair, get the steam cleaner, get to work on the carpet. The smell persists, but at least it’s clean. And we’re rejoicing. Yes we are.  We are.

By now I’m feeling exhausted and it’s naptime, so I get Heidi down for her nap. Ahhh. Finally.  Rest. I head back down and snuggle up for one-on-one time with Dutch. We read every single word off the 62-page Lego catalog which is his new obsession. I remind myself I’m not in a hurry.  As we finish the phone rings, a number I don’t recognize. Hmmm….

Now, the house has shown 13 times in the past 3 weeks or so. It is wonderful exercise cleaning the house from top to bottom, I’m thankful for the activity, and hopeful for an offer. No complaints. When it’s tricky with the kids I let them watch a video in the car while I clean and they think the whole things’s a grand adventure.  Sometimes I even toss in an ice cream cone and they’re delirious with joy.

So it’s all good. And today has been all good despite the poop water in my face.  And I answer the phone and the realtor says, “Hey we’d like to show your house.  So, we’re in Beaverton right now and have one other house to see, so we’ll be there in an hour.”

An hour?  As in ONE hour?  As in, Heidi is sound asleep napping and I just got done shampooing the carpets because we had THREE potty training accidents this morning one of which involved the most massive and disgusting poop accident. Well okey dokey! I announce to Dutch that it’s time for Nemo (he’s thrilled), clean the house in 55 minutes dripping with sweat by the time I am done, toss Heidi dazed and half-asleep into the car, and we’re off.  And I’m still hap hap happy.

So I think I’m walking in joy. I think I’m walking in gratitude. Yay, God! See what a happy heart I have? I’m so thankful for all the work you’ve done in my heart!  We park the car down the street, since there’s really nowhere to go, the kids are tuned into Nemo and I sigh happily and pull out my Bible. Ahh, this is great. And the best part is that this will probably be the one.  It’ll be such a great story and Jeff and I will laugh laugh laugh about how the people who bought the house came on the day that Heidi pooped on the floor, and we will be so happy and I’m so glad that God has given me such a happy heart.

Then I see the people pull up, into the driveway, sit in the driveway for 30 seconds, then drive away. Hmm… I wait 30 minutes, just to make sure they don’t come back, then call the realtor just to make sure.

“Hi, um, did you show the house yet?”

“Yeah we came but they didn’t like the neighborhood so we didn’t go inside.”

The gratitude I thought I had is gone.

“Ok well thank you, have a great day.”

I just spent my whole afternoon sweating over that stupid house and covering poop-smells and scrubbing floors in hands and knees and getting my daughter up from her nap and you didn’t even go inside??!!

Of course I had gratitude as long as I still thought there was something in it for me. Now I see it a little clearer–less like gratitude and more like greed.

As if they owe it to me, right? As if these dear people, whom God loves, and who need a home, somehow owe it to me to walk through a house in a neighborhood they don’t like.  Do I expect them to bow to my monument of myself?  Do I really think they owe me?

Nope. They owe me nothing.

God owes me nothing.

All to Him I owe.

So why does the surge of ungratefulness and entitlement still shoot up in my heart? Those seeds of selfishness still embedded in the soil. They’re there. Still there.

And still there’s grace. Prevailing grace. Abounding grace. Amazing grace.

So I fail.  Thankfully, I know what to do. My four-year-old has it memorized.

“When we confess our sins He is faithful and just to forgive us our sin and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” 1 John 1:9

Repent. Turn around. Let Him wash me off. Just like I did my daughter when she reeked of her own filth. He does the same.

I’m sorry, Lord. You don’t owe me a house sale. You don’t owe me anything. Forgive me and make me clean. Thank you for Jesus.

Jesus paid it all, All to Him I owe.

Sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow.

Oh praise the One who paid my debt and raised this life up from the dead!

He’s raised me and is raising me. There’s fruit even in my failure, and only God can do that.