The kids must have been about five and seven years old. Their friend, Kayla, was hanging out with us that day. Everything was going smoothly that morning as the kids busied themselves with schoolwork and I tidied the house for our church's Bible study that evening. And then lunch happened.
I'd warmed up ravioli for the kids and served the girls first. Then, as I brought Jared's bowl to him, he unexpectedly raised up in his chair. His little blonde head collided hard with my hand and the bowl went flying, showering ravioli and sauce everywhere.
It was one of those moments in life where everything seems to move in slow motion. I'm sure I saw the sauce adhering to the table, to the floor, to the wall (and to the quilt hanging there) -- and maybe even to the kids. But what struck me most was that my children's eyes didn't follow the ravioli or the bowl. They both looked wide-eyed at me. They were waiting for the hammer to fall, for me to express my exasperation with Jared for rising when he did, for the great inconvenience this would cause in my day -- didn't they know I would have to spend my precious time cleaning this up so that things would look nice before our church family came over to do spiritual things with us?
Those eyes. In that moment, I was convicted of my selfishness, my impatience, my exasperation. I realized that this was just an accident; no one set out to create more work for poor mom. And in that moment, I realized that my children were waiting for an explosion of sorts. Not a yelling mess (I don't think), but more of an angry guilt trip. They could already see it building on my face.
I repented in my heart, right then and there. I don't remember exactly how it all went down, but I think I was calm. I think I took a deep breath and said, "It's okay." I think I simply cleaned up the table area and served Jared a fresh bowl, then set out to clean up the rest of the mess.
Do you know what was most convicting to me that day? I was most convicted by the fact that I was initially more willing to withhold my anger because I didn't want my best friend's daughter to see me that way. Pride: I had an image to guard. But then, in the slow motion of the moment, I realized that if I could find enough self control to do that, I could find the self control to guard my children's hearts, as well. And while I was at it, I could recognize the difference between a childish accident and deliberate rebellion requiring discipline. In this situation, the only one acting in rebellion was me. So I repented, right there in the space of just about 10 seconds.
The Ravioli Incident still comes up occasionally in our family reminiscences. It's told as a humorous story and one of mom triumphing over the ravioli stains. But I know better. I know that the bigger triumph was over my tongue and my heart, and even over my mind as I submitted to the Lord in that moment.
And I'm still thankful that God taught me a big lesson in those short seconds, an unseen moment turned to His glory.
