Burned pastries and the teaching of grace

In January I wrote down a list of prayers I wanted to be the object of my focus in the new year. One of those prayers was to see people the way God sees them, and to love people the way he loves them.  I know myself well enough to realize that my humanity gets in the way of doing this as Jesus did.  I err on the side of speaking truth or thinking truth, and it leaves my thoughts and my actions towards others lacking in grace.  Jesus was the perfect balance of grace and truth, and my whole heart wants to love others as he did in the fullness of both (John 1:14) but I often don't know what that looks like. 

In the weeks that followed this prayer, I began to see more clearly the imbalance of my ways.  It was as if a spotlight was turned on, focusing on my least generous thoughts and words towards others.  Things that I didn't realize before became obvious to me.  And what I found most revealing was that my family received the worst of it.  Situations that I wouldn't have given a second thought to began to replay in my mind.  They lingered there with all of their questions.  Am I being fair?  Do I have a generosity towards this person?  Is there something I am not seeing or what is it that I might be misunderstanding?

And I knew that God was revealing to me the truth of my heart in a gentle, grace-filled way.

People who know me understand that I have always taken into account the value of money.  I do a cost-benefit analysis on everything I buy and weigh the choice carefully.  I've tried to figure out the origin of this strong desire to get the most value for what I put forth, but I've only come to realize it must be something hidden within the chemistry of my brain.  That chemistry was doing its thing when I was walking around Sam's Club last month.

As I was perusing the frozen food section looking for discounts, I saw these delicious looking cinnamon stuffed croissants.  My son, Isaiah, loves a version of them that are sold at Aldi, but they are only available for a few weeks out of the year.  The price was more than I was happy with, but the cost-benefit action had all the gears turning inside my head.  Yes, it was expensive BUT wouldn't it be fun to surprise Isaiah with an out of season treat?

I end up buying them, all the while congratulating myself for choosing love over money.

Later that day I come home from a Wednesday evening prayer service (you'll see why this is sadly hilarious).  There's a sheet pan soaking in the sink with mounds of black, soggy dough spaced in rows.  I could smell the remnants of burning sugar, and I knew what had happened.  All of my good intentions had gone up in smoke, and suddenly the cost outweighed the benefit.

I ask what happened and Isaiah mumbles that Dad burned them.  I shrug it off in the knowing that the Sam's-sized box had come with two packs of pastries.  That's when Isaiah tells me that the second pack was baked when the first round was ruined, and it too met a similar fate.

I was mad.  I was disappointed for Isaiah, and I was disappointed for myself too.  I did something I normally wouldn't have done because love felt worth it, but all of my generosity was sitting sadly in the sink drowning in a pool of brown water.  When my husband Tim walk in the kitchen, my mind tells me not to say anything, but my mouth is too quick to listen.  Out comes some disparaging, accusatory remark that is rooted in the thought that he was careless and irresponsible with my gift.

Tim looks at me and shows me the truth of the circumstance when he offers to pay be back for what was lost.  In that moment the comment made me angrier. His money is my money, and my money is his money.  I silently walk away thinking about how snarky and ridiculous was the nature of his reply.  

But in the quiet of my room with the door shut firm, the realization settles into me that he was simply a mirror to my own rationale.  I was snarky and irrational.  As I began to process the interaction I knew that if I had been the one to ruin Tim's efforts, his response would have been completely different. Without a doubt he would have verbally assured me that it was no big deal, driven 25 minutes to the store to buy not one, but two packs of croissants and he would have ensured that the next batch turned out perfectly to the satisfaction of Isaiah.

But I am not full of grace.  I am filled with self-satisfying, self-focusing, self-righteous behavior.  I was a sinner saved by grace, and yet I am not often a generous giver of it.  

But I want to be.  I pray to be.

The next morning I swallow my pride.  I apologize to Tim and thank him for being a mirror even though it shows me things about myself that I don't like to see.

We don't know what we don't know.  We can't change what we can't see.  But when we ask to know, when we seek to see, when we pray for change, he is faithful to answer in his grace-full, truth-filled ways.