There is a small family that lives in a modest home. This home is topped with shingles that flap in a strong wind. The north side of the chimney has seen too many Northwest winters. It needs cleaning and paint. In the yard, weeds threaten to hide the once tended plants living there. The floor beneath the master shower feels too spongy for comfort. Above the weathered back deck, several plants have sprouted in the gutter. This house is flawed and needs many things. And yet, it is still a home to the family that lives within. They don't want to lose it for all its needs and imperfections.
When the weather is warm and the windows are open, the family sometimes vocalizes its imperfections to the neighbors. Yelling bounces off the stone wall at the back of the small yard, allowing neighbors to hear some of their less than stellar moments. There was no yelling this morning. And so, we come to the death of the candy sprinkles.
The mother in our story often awakes slowly. In her half awake, half asleep state, she is calm and often blessed with inspiration. After she arises, she greets her #1 son, who seems to be hiding something behind his back. Filled with only curiosity, she asks, "What's in the cup?" #1 son dissolves into sobs. "It's candy sprinkles. I know I'm not supposed to have them for breakfast. I hate myself." This is too much angst for a small boy in the early morning.
Like a mother bear, awakening from a long slumber, this mother has yet to have all her wits about her. Better yet, her claws and fangs have yet to be engaged. She is touched by the weight of her son's self-loathing. She knows that not many young cubs can resist the allure of candy sprinkles. She is not angry. She knows that this problem can be easily solved. She says calmly, "I can fix this. I just won't buy candy sprinkles." This decision spoken aloud, causes the son to cry louder. This wasn't the desired effect. It's time for damage control. She "shshes" him and says, "Enough." No crying first thing in the morning." The son needs to emotionally regroup and gives himself a time out.
The mother knows that if this is the worst thing her son does, life will be good. She knows that many mistakes lie ahead, much worse than the consumption of candy sprinkles. She loves him in spite of his "theft". She loves him because of his theft. Hadn't she annoyed her own mother with similar and repeated theft? Mother knows first hand what the burden of shame feels like. It is too early for such a weight this morning. She can spare her son the full weight of this shame by choosing to let it go and quietly implement solutions that will benefit him. Candy sprinkles don't need to be year-round temptations in the pantry. Absent from our lives they can not cause this grief.
Young son returns and begs her, "Don't say anything to Dad. I don't want him mad at me." Mom agrees. It's best to spare Dad the frustration so early in the morning. She begins to talk of other things. The pain of the demise of the sprinkles begins to pass.
This family, just like the structure that surrounds them, is imperfect. As long as they remain a family, there is one perfectly imperfect thing they can do for each other: love one another. Their love for each other is often limited by the demons and angels that dance in their heads. But, as long as they, keep reaching for the love that lies just beyond human grasp, they will know and experience what it means to be a family, what it means to forgive, what it means to love. They are who they are, fragile, flawed humans whose lives are occasionally pierced by the divine. In their imperfections, they glimpse a perfect love.
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