So...
Jennie Allen's Instagram yesterday suggested that I just get on with it...that thing that God has put on my heart to begin that I have spent perhaps years avoiding because frankly, I feel like an unworthy dork but as Yoda and my Mama say: there is no try; only do or do not and I am past the point of wanting to be willingly disobedient. While this is a place to begin the journey of writing a book, I am going to start with a story:
This past weekend, my father's collector car auction house held an auction in our hometown of San Antonio. At that auction, we sold a 1967 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray T-Top Coupe. I am a car girl hence the exactness of my label. Anyway, we sold this Corvette and then one of our staff drove it into a chain link fence. No real speed was involved; so no major damage was done but there were two small scratches, both less than an inch. The head of my logistics staff and the head of site set up both looked the vehicle over along with the upset, now new owner. All took photos. A conversation was had about responsibility and the procedure to get in touch with me about getting the scratches fixed. The information conveyed to me was: car was scratched, here are photos, buyer paid for the car and signed all the paperwork including the as-is, car went home with new buyer. No one imparted to me a promise made that I, myself would contact this man no later than Tuesday.
Post auction (the week directly following an auction) is a very busy time. I must collect monies due, begin paying monies out, start title transfers, coordinate transportation, pay bills... you get the idea. The first few days especially, are a whirlwind. Normally post auction, I work a longer than normal day but Wednesday both my father and my son had medical procedures scheduled; so I only worked until noon. My father had an angiogram. I was prepared for the possibility of surgery to follow as my mother had that experience over a year ago. My son was having an endoscopy. It is a simple in and out. Just a little biopsy to verify celiac disease. My father's went better than expected, smoothly and home four hours after his procedure. My son... was a bit rougher.
We arrived half an hour early as recommended which meant noon. Endoscopy means he was unable to drink or eat anything since midnight. One and a half hours after our appointment time, my hangry son asks the front desk, "how much longer"? About fifteen minutes later, we are given an explanation, an apology and told we are second in line. Another hour maybe. My child is hungry, frustrated, irritated and turning into any one of the characters from the Snickers commercials that are grumpy until someone finally hands them the candy bar. Finally, our time arrives and it is just a bit past 2pm. The procedure is quick and they bring him back to me still asleep from the anesthesia. The doctor comes and shows me the images from esophagus and stomach. Images that show damage and other issues including a possible precancerous situation. I sit very still as she speaks and no tears escape until I am alone with my sleeping boy. Stunned, I pray.
He was tough to wake up. He is an insomniac and likes to sleep. The nurses finally had me rouse him as their efforts were futile. We had a funny moment of him not believing the endoscopy had even begun, let alone was over. As he began to come to, he asked what they found. I had to repeat myself a few times as he was still a bit incoherent. As the information started to seep in, my hangry, groggy manchild became angry. Said words he regretted later and I left him to settle down and get dressed thinking we were done and ready to leave. I sat alone in the waiting area for too long but not feeling like I could just walk back into the pre/post surgery area, I continued to wait. Finally, the nurse came out and asked if I could bring the car around. When he got settled into the car, he said, "you left me". I said, "no, babe...I gave you space to think and calm down. I told you I would just be in the lobby." Foggy, he didn't remember this conversation which meant, I did leave him. He sat and waited for me to come back and when I didn't, sat alone as they went over the findings once again with him. We were both alone as we heard the words precancerous. That just sucks.
I took him to eat and we cried then deciding Target was a cure all, headed for a bit of retail therapy. We arrived back at the house around 7pm. My parents were there relaxing and we updated them on everything and after changing into something more comfortable, decided to watch Disney's Coco as a family. That brought the tension down to manageable. Feeling bolstered, I went upstairs to my room more than ready for bed. Decided to wind down further with a little How the Universe Works. Sat on my bed after washing my face, praying a bit, talking to a few friends who were checking up on me and opened by email. In my email box was an angry note from a man who had been promised a call no later than Tuesday. He was letting me know his displeasure with my absence from the office today and if not contacted by noon tomorrow, he was cancelling his purchase of the '73 Vette ... over two little scratches. Weary, I replied that I knew he had been told where exactly I was today and that my day had not gone as planned. I told him I would appreciate his compassion and would do my best to reply to his needs by noon tomorrow but would not do so at the expense of my son. He would come first.
As twenty year olds do, he bounced back after a good night of sleep and we both proceeded on with our days. I investigated the scratch and interviewed our employees to test the validity of the man's story. After which, I contacted three people capable of fixing the scratch for an idea of cost. I called the man at 11am to let him know that we were taking responsibility for fixing the scratch and that I had called around to a few people for a price. He answered jovially. I replied matter of factly. After giving him the information he needed, he asked if he could apologize to me. Explained he was a pastor and ashamed of his behavior. Asked for my forgiveness which I readily gave without emotion or gratitude. He suggested that perhaps, he and his wife were to pray for my son and that perhaps that's why all this was happening as it was. The entire time he spoke to me, all I could think was I was glad he wasn't my pastor. He claimed to be humbled. He said he should have trusted God was handling it as he knew my father and I were believers. I forgave him truly in that moment but I also judged him as a man lacking. I was still cold.
Twenty four hours later, I have more grace for him as we are ALL lacking but I have to say, I am still glad he is not my pastor. He could be right. Maybe he is supposed to pray for my son. Maybe he needed a lesson in humility. Maybe I in forgiving those who transgress against me. All I know is that in the end, my deepest thoughts were that he as a pastor, without knowing what sort of day I had, lashed out even though he knew I wasn't merely taking a personal day. We all allow our emotions to rule our heads from time to time. I am recommending to myself: taking a breath and not simply reacting to the emotions of others is always better way to be.
The Bible says in Matthew 7:16 that we will know each other by our fruit. I would have never guessed based on that man's actions and words to my staff or to me that he was a pastor. I hope he can see I am a believer.
No comments:
Post a Comment