As I washed the dishes today, I noticed that my favorite spatula had burnt marks on the edge of the blade. I was extremely peeved because this is my second one. The first one had burnt marks too on the side (shown in picture). Both were murdered by my husband who likes to cook fried rice, eggs or sausage for breakfast on weekends. He also likes to leave the spatula on the very hot wok or frying pan, or better yet, leave it next to the fire.
I marched to the living room carrying the spatula in my hand, ready to yell, but as I turned the corner, a voice inside clearly said, “Shut up!” I bit my lip as I looked. My husband was taking a nap on the sofa while my daughter and her friend were watching a movie. I gingerly returned to the kitchen and proceeded to wash the dishes.
I felt the Lord’s tug in my heart saying, “How much were those spatulas? $5? $6? Were they really worth your marriage?” I was stunned. The Lord corrected me sharply. He gripped my heart and showed me how sometimes, (ha!) many times, I nag my husband for the stupidest, littlest things, not thinking that he made us breakfast that day, and has made breakfast for us every single weekend since we got married if he’s around, or whenever he is off from work. Even when we travel, he makes breakfast at the B&B so I can focus on finalizing the day’s activities and preparing Harmony and myself. He does so much around the house, carries his share of weight so I don't have to do it alone, and has been my mate, my partner for almost 11 years. Yet I was ready to wage war over my favorite spatula.
A marriage, no matter how long and seemingly strong it is, will be ruined if we let little things like these tear us apart. Just like these supposedly heat-resistant spatulas. They seem to have withstood all those cooking and frying, but every time we improperly subject them to heat outside what they were made for, a thin layer is exfoliated, slowly, gradually, until the damage becomes too big to go unnoticed, until it can no longer do what it was meant to do.
Later on, I nonchalantly showed my husband the spatula and he sheepishly apologized. He explained that he used it to scrape the pan instead of the steel spatula so he doesn’t damage my favorite skillet, and so that cleaning for me will not be hard (he does pay attention!!!). How stupid would it have been had I yelled across the house to find out he was thinking of me and my preferences? And what impression would it have been to my daughter and her friend if the Holy Spirit hadn't stop me dead in my tracks to hold my tongue?
One day at a time, I strive to be a virtuous woman one day at a time. But sometimes, I fail miserably. I am grateful the Holy Spirit’s got my back and lovingly corrects me everytime. I thank God for giving me an extremely patient husband, the only person who can withstand my idiosyncrasies and still love me for me. Christ's fingerprints and unconditional love are truly evident in him. I can always buy a spatula, but my relationship with my husband and the example I strive to live for my daughter can never be replaced. Thank God for reminding me to find beauty in the gnarliest things.
