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by: Linda Lawrence This is between you and me. --------------------------------- I sputtered in frustration.  “This makes me so mad!” There was an open jar of peanut butter, a gooey knife on a sticky counter, crumbs and a milk-rimmed glass on the kitchen table.  Pity the woman who marries this messy son of mine! Because my husband was away on a business trip, I had been almost salivating on the way home from work, looking forward to a weekend of solitude in my clean, recently emptied nest.  My husband enjoyed having our son use our house as a pit stop, but it had obviously gotten on my nerves big time. Appalled at the actual taste of bile in my mouth on seeing the unexpected kitchen mess, I realized I had to do something about my ongoing irritation with our twenty-year-old son.  I was turning sour.  He had recently moved into his own place.  Since he didn’t sleep at our house, he felt quite independent.  He saw no need to help out, or clean up after himself, but liked to hang out at our house where there was a refrigerator that had food in it. This is just like when he . . . (blah, blah, blah) . . . I rehearsed, even though I knew the mess in the kitchen was all out of proportion in my mind, being linked to his history of offenses. The silently swallowed irritations were fermenting and if I didn’t find a release one way or another, I was afraid I’d explode.  There would have to be a confrontation. I hate confrontation, but I also hated what was happening inside me.  So I planned to make a list of the complaints I had against him, to explain these were things that drove a woman crazy; that he needed to know this if he was ever going to be a good husband.  I then visualized that he would apologize. I would forgive him.  My anger would be gone.  It seemed like a reasonable plan.  I made my list: seven years of suppressed frustration – I thought of thirty-six complaints. For a physical release of my tension, I went on a long walk; list in hand, my feet pounding out a prayer for God’s help in the upcoming confrontation with my son. Tiring, I slowed down my frustrated striding in order to tune in to a familiar, still, small voice.  And suddenly I had a quite different confrontation.  I WANT YOU TO FORGIVE HIM FOR EVERY OFFENSE.  Oh Lord, I will as soon as he understands what he’s done that is so offensive.  I WANT Y0U TO FORGIVE HIM RIGHT NOW AND TEAR UP THE LIST. But, but Lord, I mentally sputtered, I can’t do that yet because then he will never know what he’s doing wrong.  THAT’S BETWEEN HIM AND ME.  THIS IS BETWEEN YOU AND ME. I can’t, I groaned, my heart and feet heavy with weariness from carrying a full load of bitterness.  Traffic roared in the distance, but in my head was the roar of a lion, trying to drown the still, small, but commanding voice.  How could I just let go of the multitude of past offenses and future expectations?  Help me, Lord, I don’t know how to get rid of them. GIVE THEM TO ME.  Even without his knowing how much I’m forgiving?  YES, GIVE THEM TO ME.  So, reluctantly, slowly, but obediently, I tore the list into shreds.  Immediately, the roar was like a flood wiping my son’s slate clean, washing from my memory all but the one small kitchen mess.  I felt like I’d lost a literal twenty-pound burden that I had allowed to pile up during my son’s teenage years.  I almost floated home.  I did a lot of pruning of shrubbery that weekend.  There was much that needed to be dumped.  However, I had no way of hauling it away, so I piled it in the front yard. My son dropped by later that weekend and I was secretly pleased at not feeling irritated, and instead, actually glad to see him. But I was dumbstruck with awe, when he said, “I see you’ve been cleaning up the yard.  I’ll take that stuff to the dump for you tomorrow, if you want.” “Why, thank you!” I said.  “That would be a great help.” Little did he know how great was that help in affirming that my struggle was not with him.  Looking back, I realize my irritability truly is between God and me.  God continually uses my irritability to make me more dependent on Him.  It seems we are never quite independent.  God removed the bitterness towards my son, but there will always be irritants in my life.  However, God says His power is best seen in our weakness.  So, since I can’t get rid of irritation, I’m depending on God to do the dumping, not my son. Incidentally, ten years later, my beautiful daughter-in-law told me, without my asking, that my son is a very thoughtful, considerate, responsible husband. View the story online at: http://www.storiesaboutgod.org/index.php/stories/story_page/cleaning-up/

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