“You can’t park there! It is a handicap spot!” I interrupted Howard’s turn toward the space. He reluctantly reconsidered and found another parking place.
“That was a parking place!” he insisted, “It wasn’t handicapped!” I maintained that it was, since I’d seen the big blue wheelchair painted on the surface. “Will you promise not to get mad if I show you I’m right?” he asked, but certain of myself, I told him yes, if he would not get mad when he found I was right.
His eyes widened when he saw the spot, but he said, teasing, “I only said it was a parking place, and it is!” I reminded him that he said it wasn’t handicapped, so I was right.
Things are not always what they seem. Though we enjoyed the verbal sparring about the parking place, I sometimes think the enemy distorts our perspective and doesn’t miss a chance to spoil things for us. For instance, at church the other evening, my husband entered the pulpit in a victorious mode. “Praise the Lord!” he exclaimed, waving his arm enthusiastically. The more he moved his arm, and it seemed interminable to me, the more the hem of his long-sleeved knit shirt looked strange. It seemed to be unraveling, with part of the sleeve hem drooping at his wrist.
Stop singing! I thought. But he sang and pumped his arm even more. My eyes were glued to his wrist, and I was sure everyone else’s were, too. Was it my imagination? Was the sleeve only tucked under a little, making a wrinkle? I tried to look away, willing my mind back upon the words we were singing.
Why is this bothering me so? I asked myself. But I could just imagine the disparaging thoughts the church ladies were thinking: Why doesn’t she make sure his clothes are in good repair? (In reality, I do well to get myself ready, and trust him to do the same, although I usually spot a wardrobe mistake before we leave.) Sometimes the hem looked normal, and I would relax, only to have it pop out again. My eyes seemed to playing tricks on me.
At last Howard gave the microphone to someone else and sat down. Unbelievably, his sleeve looked perfectly fine, then. When I examined it as he took his seat, nothing was wrong! “Why did your sleeve look funny up there?” I asked him later. He said he had turned it under! No wonder it was slipping out!
Well, at least the hem hadn’t come loose. We had a wonderful service and I was ashamed of my useless embarrassment. Lord, forgive me of pride and help me in “Casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ.” 2 Corinthians 10:5.
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