We stare at the big round eye in the sky and talk about why it’s called a blue moon since it doesn’t look blue at all. It’s funny how things are named and remembered.
After prayers, the young’uns beg for stories from when they were little. So I talk about the time when the dark haired boy was three and got so mad at me he plumb bolted out the front door, his legs going ninety to nothing towards the field behind our house. Oh, the sight I must have been chasing him and hollering so loud the visiting grandparents couldn’t stop laughing.
And then there was the time baby sister found herself a new tub of Vaseline and smeared it all over the brown recliner. With a greasy little hand, she pulled me into the room to show me her handiwork, her face beaming proud as a peacock.
And then I tell about that time blonde brother painted the entire panty with pancake syrup. And since there are enough stories from this child to fill books, I can’t resist adding one more about the time he sprayed his sister head to toe in Febreeze because, “Mama, she smelled real funny!”
I’m sure I didn’t laugh then.
But we all do now. The kids listen and laugh hard at all their crazy antics, heads thrown back and hands slapping knees. They crack themselves right up.
I don’t remember how I handled all those hard days, although I’m sure grace didn’t always show up. But now? It’s funny how the things that made me pull my hair out then provide fuel for miles and miles of laughter now. True, I’d like to gobble up a lot of things I’ve said. Words wound and they remember. But these story telling sessions prove they don’t remember as many of my screw-ups as I think.
Sometimes, it’s funny how things are remembered. Years later, grace shows up.
It’s just one of the ways God redeems the bad days.
How have you seen Him redeem your own bad days?