My grogginess soon dissipated when I walked into the living room and saw an eight-inch circle of deep black. She had reached for something and turned over a pint full of tempera paint and had already attempted cleaning it up. "This happened in your bedroom once before ... and why we told you to have plenty of newspaper down..." No speech would help her (or the carpet) at this point, so I stopped, turned and headed for the Oxi-clean.
It was my problem now.
I could stop there because that is the crux of the theological moment for a life lesson that happened that night. At least the summary of what God spoke to my heart as I headed back up the stairs to go to bed.
We are going into the Pentecost season starting Sunday, and I am filling in the pulpit at a church south of Marion. Th…