This week charity arrived on my back patio in the form of a profanity-riddled flamingo plate. That's right a profanity-riddled flamingo plate.
It's no secret that I had a difficult week last week. I felt overwhelmed and angry. I was tired. I'm sure you could tell from my last post that my coping skills were dwindling. I spent a few days in a funk, and let my mood match the stormy weather.
On Friday afternoon I took a long nap, and when I woke up Jordan told me there was something on the back porch for me. "What is it?" I said. "Something about going to hell, " he said. This obviously peaked my interest, so I pulled myself up off the couch and went to the back porch.
I laughed out loud as I read each plate, and then I felt overwhelmed by this simple and unusual act of charity. I knew that the bearers of these plates were seeking to soothe my heart, and acknowledge my pain. I wrote in my last post about wanting to break dishes, but feeling too responsible and disciplined to do it. These women heard my cry, and instead of trying to talk me down, they brought me dishes I could break without hesitation. Perfection.
As I sat in church today I thought about Paul's letters to the Corinthians. Paul wrote beautifully about charity, and all of its qualities. Charity is kind, it envieth not, it seeketh not her own... In all Paul's wisdom and pondering I doubt he could have envisioned a defaced flamingo plate being a vessel for God's pure love. But that is exactly what it was for me. These stacks of thrift store plates reminded me that God loves me and that I am supported in my trials. It was just the message and gift I needed.
Charity never faileth.
1 Corinthians 13:8