It was an ordinary day. I innocently entered my kitchen not knowing that it was going to attack me. Before my son helps me with the dishes I take the sharp knives out of the dishwasher and put them up high like a good mommy does. The home of the sharp knives, a plastic cylinder shaped bowl, was snuggled in its normal place in the upper cupboard. Instead of the knives landing in the bowl in the normal fashion, when I dropped them into place, they bounced out and performed a summersault toward my face. I quickly stepped back away from the flying knives. Stunned. Grateful that my face didn’t look like I was related to Edward Scissorhands.
Unsettled, I decided to make a cup of my green tea. Comfort food. My son began to silently unload the dishwasher. I reached for one of my favorite china mugs in an upper cabinet just beside the open dishwasher. With cup in hand I turned around, tripped on my son and fell into the upper rack of the dishwasher beside me, bounced down to the lower rack, and finally to the floor. My sole thought was that I couldn’t break that china mug in my hand. It didn’t receive a scratch. I, on the other hand, received three bruises. One was scary enough to win a lawsuit against my appliance, which has nothing against dishes, only people.
I went to my office chair to sulk and nurse my wounds. I thought my husband would come to investigate the outrageous crash that was the result of my fall. He later informed me that he just thought it was the boys. I was too humiliated to talk about being a victim attacked by a bully dishwasher anyway.
Why was this happening to me? I didn’t do anything wrong, God. I wondered. Sometimes I tease my husband when “things” happen, “You know God allowed that to happen to you as a test to see how you would respond.” I didn’t get mad. Check. Hmm… My kitchen is haunted.
After dinner I hadn’t forgotten about the kitchen events of the day, but I had to put the remaining white chicken chili in the freezer. I grabbed a freezer baggie like a good granddaughter does, since my grandma put everything “in a baggie” after Thanksgiving Dinner one year. Spooning the soup into the bag, I was lost in thought when suddenly the bag slipped from my hand and half the contents raced out onto the edge of the countertop, down the side, and splatted on the floor. I. Was. Angry! It also made its way into the drawer under the countertop and into the cabinet below that. I was really mad now.
You know God allowed that to happen to you as a test to see how you would respond… Oh, shut up!
After solemn reflection, and counseling mixed with a little therapy, I’m not so traumatized every time I go in the kitchen now. Since I have to be in that particular room many times in a given day, I have a strategy. If my nerves become the least bit edgy I will purchase a football uniform complete with padding to wear under my apron.
What I want to know is, why did my guardian angel go on break? 😉
If you liked this post then please share it, and don’t forget to subscribe!Photo by dougbelshaw (Creative Commons)