Beth was so mad about that dress. I should write more about it.
----------------------------
The Pink Room: Thoughts About Intentional
Living
Chapter 6/ Things I Should Not Have Done,
Probably.
Part 3 (Previous post contain the previous
chapters.)
----------------------------
I was normally an extremely well behaved child.
Besides tell-all facial expressions, that would sometimes cause an angry look,
I wasn’t mouthy and didn’t fly off the handle.
I took my faith seriously after somewhere
around age fifteen. I read that you were supposed to honor your father and
mother, so I tried to do that.
We
had an understanding in the house that went sort of like this: I trust you and
you can lose that trust, so don’t. We would make deals on curfew, normally to be
home by 10:00 PM or my sister and I would have to call because at that point “we
can talk about extending it, if there is a reason” that seemed okay by me,
often curfew was extended. The deal was: communicate the details.
I
never broke curfew. I enjoyed the freedom of being able to stay out later, with
a call, and didn’t want to screw that up. I should say: I never broke
curfew until the night my sister made me.
She
lied! I think I’m finally (almost) over it. Beth, my sweet, charming, perfect
sister, lied to me!
I
will never know the entirety but what I can surmise is that she had selective
hearing because she wanted to hang out with certain people (a boy.) Since I was
going along, and was not present for the curfew conversation, and she never
lied to me before, I went along with whatever she told me.
“So,
what did they say?”
“Midnight.”
She said.
“Really,
that’s weird?! And they don’t know the people we are going with…”
“Yup.”
Nope.
My gut said that what she said was off somehow, and it was. I should have
pressed harder. I should have noticed the short responses. I should have asked my
parents myself. None of that happened.
We
walked in the house a few minutes after midnight, the lights were on and my
parents were sitting at the kitchen counter waiting for us. I immediately knew
what happened.
“Where
have you been?”
…And
we were grounded. I felt righteous anger
when I figured it all out. My perfect record was tossed out the window. I would
have hated to see to look in my eyes. I slowly looked over at Beth and glared.
I was pissed. I proceeded to give Beth a lecture on trust and making our
parents worry and how angry I was. I’m sure I looked ridiculous, I was fifteen.
Beth’s
punishment looked different than mine. She couldn’t leave the house. Mine was something
like emptying the dishwasher. My parents though I was so funny about the
whole thing. They realized I didn’t know what had happened until after it was
over.
I
wasn’t perfect, however. There was the time that I decided to ask if I could go
to the airport to drop off the exchange student that my friends had gotten to
know. The friend group of ten or eleven all took turns calling parents to get
excused from school. I DID ask if I could go to the airport, I just DIDN’T
happen to mention it was in Milwaukee, two hours away.
I
also decided, one time, that one of Beth’s dresses would look nicer without the
fluffy sleeves. (She didn’t wear it!) I took the sleeves off—she was not happy
about that. I've never seen her so angry before. I guess I also ate a plant when I was two, I probably shouldn’t
have done that either. But there wasn’t much like that. I probably should not have driven across the campus' lawn with my friends in one of their SUVs. Probably should not have thrown mashed potatoes at a guy in the cafeteria, either--maybe I'll share more on that later.
Mom
always said, we should behave because if we didn’t she’d find out. She found
out. People always find out. If you are desperate to hide something, it is like
people have radar and sense something, then know to look.
There
was a basket on the counter of the duplex I rented with a roommate several
years ago. I never looked in it until one day when I was desperate to find
something. It was hidden in plain sight. It was part of a set of three baskets,
the middle one, the middle size, and just slightly out in front of the others.
We’d
only lived there for six months, something was not right. She’d managed to make
it so the landlord would only call her, she always answered the phone, she
always got the mail, and she always sent the rent. I didn’t like it, it was weird—I
worked full-time and long hours so I couldn’t do anything about it. She said
she worked, I found out later that she didn’t. I found out a lot of things
after I looked in that basket.
Things
started to unravel one night when I got a call on my cell phone, from the
landlord, who immediately started yelling at me about delinquent rent. My
immediate question was: have all my check arrived? I’ve sent one every month. It
wasn’t until a few days later, when I stayed home sick from work that
everything fell apart.
The
utility company called and asked for a payment. My roommate and I had split the
bills, I paid phone and she paid utilities, or so I thought. Then I talked to
the landlord, who had calmed a bit, and said she’d always received my rent but
never the other tenant’s. I was shocked.
I
was missing some bank and credit card statements, I got paranoid. If this girl
was lying about everything, I didn’t want her to have those! It was immediately pressing to know where those
papers were.
The
search began. I looked everywhere. I remember standing in the middle of the
kitchen and I thinking, “Where would I hide something I didn’t want anyone to
find?” Either really far away or so super close no one would look. I walked the
three feet over to the baskets and there they were--all the bills, statements
and papers. Things I had been looking for, things she said she had never
received.
Dismayed,
betrayed, shocked, hurt, bewildered would only begin to describe how I felt. It
was all so much worse because I thought we were friends--we also shared friends.
I forgave her but I no longer trusted her. I was told I wasn’t acting like a Christian;
choosing to not spend time with her anymore wasn’t very popular. I was told
that if I forgave that I should “reconcile.” I learned a lot about what
forgiveness looks like during that season. We are not asked to put ourselves in
harm’s way, we are asked to release any retribution we are owed to Jesus and
allow him to take care of the debt; literally, in this case.
A
number of discussions happened and I moved out. I had several shocking
conversations with the utility company and one particularly memorable one with
her sister.
We
were friends from church, we served together and now everything was going to
change.
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There
is a time when righteous anger strikes and forgiveness is confusing. Injustice
and duplicity take an extra measure of letting go—betrayals cut deep. I’ve been
guilty of and impacted by betrayals.
It
is easy to think of your intentions, when you are guilty. When you have the
right to be angry, and you can forgive, it is an act of beauty.
Even
if you can’t trust an individual again, releasing them from their
responsibility to you is the first step toward forgiveness and freedom.
Forgetting what they owe you is part of that. Then allowing God to be the judge
and jury, on your behalf, will help for peace in the future.
