The morning always begins with an abrupt sound.
Beep (snooze), beep (snooze), beep (snooze).
After 30 minutes of alarms going off, I finally peel the covers off of me. I wish I felt like a caterpillar emerging from a cocoon as beautiful butterfly, but I almost always feel like a zombie reluctantly rising from a coffin.
Each step out of bed leaves my feet like concrete blocks trudging through my room.
Just keep moving. This day will just be like the rest.
I then ensue my hasty five minute routine of maintenance for the day. I brush my teeth and hair, put on minimal makeup if I’m lucky, throw some clothes on, put the books pertinent to the schedule of that day in my backpack, and walk out of my dorm letting the door click closed behind me.
Hyperbolic? Maybe, but the mornings are just difficult for me, okay. It's the sole reason for my coffee addiction.
On this particular day, I was headed to my creative writing class. The day was beaming with sunlight, so on the walk to class I was revived from my drudging morning routine into new life. Also, it doesn’t hurt that I listened to Feeling Good by Michael Bublé on the way. It’s impossible to listen to that song and not feel like you can champion the day ahead.
Strangely, on this day in particular, I was actually feeling good.
During my break after Creative Writing, I planned to begin reading the novel assigned for European History. I went to the student center, grabbed some coffee (the life juice of my existence) and a table, and leaned into the loner look. Head phones in, laptop, coffee, highlighters, and a novel out. You know the look. I was really pulling it off.
Unfortunately, my coffee was still too hot to drink, so I took the top off to let it cool while I leaped into The Spy Who Came In From the Cold. A few minutes later, I moved my foot slightly, it tapped the table, the whole tabletop jolted, and my coffee spilled everywhere—right onto my laptop.
In a panic, I rushed up to get napkins, but I knew this was something that pieces of soft, brown paper couldn’t solve. I did what I could and then headed back to my dorm room to research how to remedy the drowning electronic device that held my life. I turned it upside down to let the french vanilla coffee seep out of the foreign crevices that it was occupying, but that was really all I could do. I felt really hopeless, helpless. No action I could perform would salvage my mistake. I had just ruined an expensive piece of machinery.
The reason that this capsized my stomach and sent a harsh, lingering chill down my spine was the idea of telling my Dad. He is a loving man, and I am such an daddy’s girl—the last thing that I want to do is disappoint him. In fact, the look I'm most afraid of in the whole world is my parents faces plastered with anger and disappointment directed at me. I could almost weep at just the thought of the two people I respect most in the world being discontented with me. Basically, I had to figuratively sedate myself in order to make that phone call.
I dialed the number that I know better than the words to Bohemian Rhapsody, and just waited. I knew that the second I told him about my dripping laptop that was shorting out in front of my watery eyes, he had every right to be thoroughly disappointed in me. I deserved to be scorned and told that I would have to figure out a solution on my own.
He quickly picked up the phone and said the usual:
“Hey sweetheart, how are you?”
Usually I would blow over this and just say “great” or “okay” or the classic “I’m doing alright”, but there was no time for that. Plus, I’m about as good at concealing my emotions as I am at singing (which is very, very bad), and my Dad picks up on my emotional state faster than anyone else given that he’s known me literally my whole life.
So I just bit the bullet and choked back the following words:
“Yeah, I’m not doing so well.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Okay, don’t freak out because if you freak out then I am gonna cry.”
“Okay, I promise I won’t freak out. What happened?”
I can only imagine the things going through his mind at this point due to my over dramatization. Whoops.
But something happened after I told him. He didn’t reprimand me. He didn’t make one comment about disappointment. Instead, he told me in a tender voice that it was okay and that we would fix it.
He gave me directions to go to the Mac specialist in Auburn’s bookstore and then told me to let him know the next course of action.
I hung up the phone and a blanket of relief covered me. I felt smothered in love in that moment. I knew my Dad understood that any disapproving comments would have validated the anxiety rumbling around in my head, so he treated me in the most loving way possible. He was supremely comforting and practical, which was exactly what I needed.
On the way from the village to the bookstore, I listened to It Is Well the whole way. While listening, I texted my Dad and thanked him for being so gracious. His response overflowed with affirmation for where my emotions should lie.
It said: You’re welcome sweetheart. Don’t fret the small stuff, right? I love you.
And it was well. Just like my sweet earthly Father reminded me, my laptop is just an object—a mere thing that can be replaced. It wasn’t worth hyperventilating over or crying about. My life is still in the hands of Christ and my purpose still belongs in bringing glory to a deserving God. A fried computer can’t and won’t alter my salvation. Earthly mistakes and inconveniences have no grip on my wellbeing. They’ll fade away just like everything on this earth.
In reflection, the day this happened was genuinely enjoyable because God displayed the gospel to me unexpectedly—by way of my loving and gracious earthly Father.
You see, I didn’t deserve to have my dad love me and purchase me a new laptop, but he did. He paid the price that I couldn’t. He loved me like Jesus did two thousand years ago when my heavenly Father sent Christ to the cross to pay the price for my soul. The ultimate price that I couldn’t pay.
Seeing my Dad’s actions point me to the atoning actions of my heavenly Father was a stunning image that I couldn’t stop gazing at. It reminded me of the importance of clothing myself in the gospel daily; it’s a reality that needs to be preached to every believer ceaselessly. No one can ever say truthfully that they have heard the gospel too many times. It’s the living water that will never die. It's a blessing that we can keep sipping it.
Today, I am thankful for how the Lord reminds me of the gospel in little ways—especially when it’s through the grace of my loving earthly father.
So, believers, think on 1 John 3:16 often.
"This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us.”
The gospel is a radical, life-changing truth that reminds all believers that it is finished. In light of it, don’t sweat the small stuff. And always, always thank your Father for grace.
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| Me + coffee. It's a thing. |
