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Rushing, Repentance & Rest

Updated: Jul 24, 2022

"St. John the Baptist Pointing to Jesus," Leonard Da Vinci, 1516

I was briefly in the doghouse one recent morning. As is my custom, I went out for an early morning run while my boys were still sleeping and completely forgot 15-year-old Pierce had baseball training at 7am. At 6:45, my boys' dad--who was driving him--texted me wondering where I was. Can't leave little brother Isaac alone. Oh, boy! In an instant, the morning schedule came into sharp focus and I remembered.

I can't run that fast so my ex had to rush out to pick me up mid-route, obviously peeved, jaw set. Can't blame him. I apologized and saw him bite his tongue. A moment later, he admitted he'd forgotten, too. When we got home, I sincerely apologized to Pierce for making him late. Pierce gave me the teen silent treatment as he rushed out the door. I had to text mea culpa to the coach, who otherwise locks the door promptly at 7. Feeling remorseful, I then noticed a sink full of dishes said teen had forgotten to do last night, as he does at least once a week. (Not that I'm keeping count ;-)

I do hate being late, but I tend to overschedule, like millions of working single moms everywhere. I mark my calendar, set alarms on my phone, and write myself giant notes where I'll see them to keep me on task and mostly, I'm punctual, if harried. Even so, I sometimes miss the mark (aka sin).

Sufficiently humbled again the other morning, I resolved to do better. I rounded up my younger son Isaac to deliver him to camp, aiming to pick up the tardy teen on time an hour later.

I stopped by Walmart to exchange some shoes for Isaac which had been sitting in the car for a week. Three-quarters through the long line at customer service, the cashier had technical difficulties. Ruh-roh. If I waited, I might be late to pick up Pierce at 8:15. Late again? Within an hour of my heartfelt vow? So be it. I completed my transaction just as my phone blew up at 8:14. Finally, I answered.

"Where are you?!" Pierce said in a way-too-irritated-way-to-talk-to-your-mom tone. I often sit waiting for him at practice for the hour, though not today.

I calmly explained my dilemma and assured him I'd be there in 10 minutes.

Later jumping into the car, Pierce grinned as he playfully lamented having to wait.

I could not resist reminding him that I had waited some 3,247 hours for him to date, starting with his being two weeks late exiting my womb.

He laughed. Then I kindly reminded him that he'd left a dishful of dishes. Again. Then he told me his father had entirely forgotten him after practice the night before.

We had a good laugh. These types of failings are laughable, after all. Others, not so much.

Big failings or small, we are all human works in progress.

We all (mostly) mean well. We really, really do. At least some of the time.

We just fail. Repeatedly. Surely that's why Jesus told us we may need to forgive people 77 times...and I don't think He means keep a tally so you can bail when the offender hits #77.

There are other issues with which I seldom struggle, but this remains a repeated offense.

That is one problem with repentance.

Repentance again? Sigh.

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