Execution

I woke from troubled sleep to bleary morning.
After breakfast, the oatmeal press
Was knocked off its countertop perch and
Broke.

Later, I ordered a replacement part for twenty bucks.
In the scheme of life, this is less than a blip.

But when I saw the broken pieces,
I lost it.
I had seen that oat press and had considered putting it away.
And didn’t.

I am a failure.

In that moment, no punishment seemed deep enough.
I could slap my face, but what I wanted was scourging.

Execution.

Does that seem extreme?

Welcome to the mind of a perfectionist.
I discard any clothes with holes.
If I am a holey shirt, I should be thrown away, too.

The broken oat press
Telescopes
And becomes a symbol of all the ways I have failed
To heed the voice of God
For thirty-six years.

Broken computer because I didn’t instruct my son to put it away.
A freezer of meat ruined because I didn’t get an ice cream but overcame my craving.
Dead chicks because I didn’t check on them because it wasn’t time.
Much lost in the stock market crash because I didn’t call while driving cross country.

Failures that result in financial loss, disappointment, death.

Hours later, still wiped out from my shockingly intense reaction,
I said to God: I feel like I deserve execution.
What do you have to say to me?

A picture of Jesus on the cross.
His life for mine.

And the gentle reminder:
I don’t expect perfect communication
From any of my friends.
I am glad that they try to speak with me at all,
As we skate toward mutual understanding.

God is not disappointed in my failures to hear and obey.
He is pleased that I keep trying.