Baxter was making a fuss the other evening before bedtime. He was banging around the house, dashing in and out of the rooms. He was staring at something in the hallway that set him off. At first I thought it might be a mouse or a spider that got into the house. He toys with such critters if he can, running after them, trapping them or trying to throw them with his paw, and finally, he leaves them for more exciting distractions. But this manic episode was different. He wouldn’t stop. He kept getting more and more excited. He wasn’t giving up on whatever it was that peaked his interest until it was conquered, or I removed it.
Because I wanted to get to bed, I decided to get to the bottom of this ruckus. At first, I couldn’t figure it out. No signs of a critter, no body parts left anywhere, no strange sounds except Baxter’s, so what could be setting him in such a frenzy? Then I spotted it. The strange intruder who set Baxter on his mad antics around the house was a twisty-tie. Yes, you read that correctly. One of those little coated metal wires used to close garbage bags or plastic food bags was the source for his crazy runs, jumps and grunts. He was so easily set off by something that amounted to nothing. A flip of the waste can lid, and it was all over.
We sometimes get excited by the smallest and silliest things as well. A garbage bag left in the house, dishes left on the table, five minutes late leaving for work, a traffic light turning red, eye glasses misplaced, a cell phone left in the office, a greeting missed by a friend or colleague, whatever it might be, we use it as the earthquake to set off our personal tsunami. We let our anger and frustration wash over everything and everyone in our path at times like these, and we start drawing cosmic conclusions about the matter with words like “always,” “never,” “why” and the accusatory “YOU!” We blow whatever happened out of proportion, and make it a personal affront to us, to the responsibility and respect due us. No reasoning or conciliatory talk gets to us at such times. We just want to ventilate and feel justified in doing so. Like Baxter when he is strung out, we are simply out of control.
So what do we do about such scenes when they occur? We can’t do another take and discard the first reaction, even if we want to do so. Once the words are spoken and the theatrics are played there is no erasing them. We have to deal with the consequences and learn from them.
Dealing with the consequences means we want to repair any damage our harsh words created. “I’m sorry” goes a long way to fill in the gaps our rash judgment created. It’s an invitation to give me another chance, to start over, to forget the drama and live normally again. What our anger shut down in our relationship with another, our apology reopens for the free flow of exchanging thoughts, feelings, concerns and beliefs. We begin to learn again, and what we learn is perspective. We made a mountain out of a mole hill. We forgot the big picture of the person before us. We reduced the moment and the relationship to what just happened, rather than seeing it as a part of a history of happenings that constitutes a person’s full character and our relationship with them.
Lent is a good time to mend the tears we have created between each other and between ourselves and God. “I’m sorry” is a simple sentence with profound meaning and effect. It diffuses our sometimes over-charged lives together, and puts the pieces back into the places where they belong. It helps us appreciate each other for the unique goodness we each bring to the task of living. It calms, heals and re-creates our love for each other. The monsters we imagine are shown for what they are, little annoyances that are best discarded.
It’s just a “twisty-tie,” Baxter. Go back to sleep. We all need to rest in the Lord this Lent.
