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Better known as
The “S” Word Story
[Artistic Director: Stache]
To this day, I reap the consequences of an ignorant decision I made early in the first few months of our marriage. My nineteen-year-old, self-focused self, honestly didn’t have a clue. While no one can describe me as a quick study per say, I do eventually learn. Consequences are quite another matter entirely.
Among other things, Stache came to the marriage with a box of boyhood treasures. The man, seven years my senior, had graduated high school, survived an enlisted tour with the Marines at the tail end of the Vietnam War and graduated from a two-year trade school, all while I was still a silly school girl. So as you see, this box of treasures had been hanging around his parent’s attic for a very long time.
Treasures indeed! I remember two contents in that box, though there were undoubtedly more; a stack of old love letters from past girlfriends and an old decrepit, giant, green, stuffed snake.
Something you may not know about me just yet is my long-established terror of a-fore mentioned creatures. Stuffed, real, imagined or merely spoken of, my arguably justifiable fear is so incredibly immeasurable, I usually don’t allow myself to type such a word, nor do I willingly think of it. Most unfortunate, this mode of communication requires a rare exception for both.
The said creature, hereafter in my presence, is known only as (by anyone who loves me) the “S” word. Plain and simple. But I digress…
I haven’t yet met a bride with any sense in her head, who would not be pleased to witness her husband initiate the burning of old love letters from past girlfriends. And I was no exception. Stache obliged easily enough, no residual trauma to be concerned about there.
But the “S” word was altogether another story. The man seriously meant what he said when he casually mentioned he had saved the vile stuffed toy for his firstborn son. I kid you not! Now how was I supposed to know he was serious?!
The “S” word, ultimately met a similar demise as that of the old love letters, but by MY insistent, relentless hand. I held my head high, no shame what-so-ever. What loving mother, would allow such vileness to enter her baby’s nursery?
For that matter, what father would ask for such? Unheard of! I don’t know how the crafty thing slithered past my dear MIL&L’s attention in the first place?! She might’ve saved me a bunch of trouble. But seeing as it did, well, you know, I took care of it! I did what any mother would do, right?
Surprising to me, Stache was seriously aghast at my callous audacity. At the time, he said very little. Pointed comment after random pointed comment, finally gave me a clue. Sixteen YEARS into the marriage, I was still catching hints that I had made a tragic decision, and I was yet to be completely forgiven.
Around about this time I believe the Lord directed me to a word study on submission, which lent itself to further study on love and kindness. The Holy Spirit gave understanding, I honestly hadn’t had before. “Epic Fail” flashed (and slithered)…in neon green lights all about my mind. I finally realized the weight of my blind treachery.
Within the year of this awful discovery, I happened upon a six foot long, bright lime green, stuffed -“S” word. He was lying about in a large bin with other unfortunate stuffed creatures. God works in mysterious ways, doesn’t He? Ikea of all places!
There lay an unmistakable symbol of remorse, a token of intended kindness, a visible expression of submission, all wound up in a lime green, stuffed -(yes, you got it) “S” word. Sure enough, I valiantly approached and gathered him into my cart, bought him, wrapped him up pretty and gave him to Stache, with further expressed love and contrition.
I am pleased to report, I am finally free from my young tyrannical reputation, -forgiven in earnest. Forgiven except for the unfortunate missing rattle, that was apparently stitched in the originals’ tail. I’ll have to get one of those someday and stuff it in.
I just don’t know if I could live with THOSE consequences. Stache would surely not contain himself. I’m sure I couldn’t bear it!
Take a wild guess who has slept on our bedpost next to us, each and every night for the past twenty years(!). And guess who loves him. Not only Stache of course but every grandbaby old enough to ask their Papa if they can drag the thing out to play. Guess who turns a blind eye and keeps her mouth pleasantly shut.
As much as I hate my past selfishness, it is genuinely forgiven. I love how God has redeemed it into a family tale about submission, kindness, and love. And as much as I still cringe a bit at its presence, I can’t think of a more selfless representation of my love for Stache. That thing belongs, right where he lives.
Spilling my story, I have to wonder if God has dealt similarly with any of you? Has He ever allowed you to get all tangled up in yourself, then provide you with miraculous healing and restoration? Isn’t He kind? Allowing us life lessons we’ll never forget, clear enough, that even our grandchildren will remember. Amazing!
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