I'm a big fan of second chances. Without them, this marriage wouldn’t have gotten past year one. And two. And three. Etc.
I’m not talking about surviving growing pains. About learning my spouse doesn’t have the same idea of “clean” as me. Cliches about clothes in a hamper.
Or selfishness in the vague way people at the pulpit mention the need to lay down our own desires like girls night and sports bars with the guys. They’re trying to say marriage is difficult without saying much of anything at all.
I’m talking about putting my marriage, my spouse, dead last. Breaking vows and promises and decency. And then the hamper stuff for good measure.
But I picked a man who offers his hand to pull me out of fires that I start myself. Over and over again.
And my boss? She gives them out like candy. She’s three and super forgiving. This morning she had me on snack deadline and I crouched right down in her face and screamed about having two other people I had to answer to.
She forgave me and even entrusted me with more work assignments when clearly I’m not up to the task. I was hand-picked for bedtime duty, edging out the company MVP, her father.
I managed to blow that and meltdown when she asked for story #151715. Ok, story #4. But multiply 4 by all the days I’ve been a mother and it feels like I don’t have one more story left in this tank.
I have three children and my plate is full because I made it this way. And every day I act like this life got handed to me by someone else. I pass out blame, my family passes out forgiveness.
I’ve rebuilt my marriage and relationship with my children on second chances, they’ve been mortar between crumbling bricks. They’ve absolved a heartless wife and a broken mother.
I’ve been learning to give people the benefit of the doubt, even when they don’t deserve it.
Because God knows I never deserved it. I’ve been practicing opening my arms when I’d rather turn my back.