Conviction

I spilled my drink last night.

It was a rather large glass filled with Pepsi and as it splashed to the floor, I suddenly become aware of the fact that not only was the floor a wet, sticky mess, the brand-new wireless keyboard my parents had purchased for us was underneath a flood of the sugary liquid.

Although it was an accident, it shed light on a glaringly ugly truth; I wasn't supposed to drink anything next to the computer with the exception of water. 

You see, this isn't a requirement handed down to me by a ruthless dictator. This rule was an agreement made over a year ago; the sixth time I had ruined a keyboard for thoughtlessly placing a cup filled with soda next to the computer.

I knew better.

What happened next still brings me to shame.

Knowing that my husband would be disappointed about the loss of a perfectly functioning keyboard, I humbly walked into the family room and told him what happened.

His response was a quiet, restrained, "Well honey, what did you expect would happen?"

The irritation was evident in his voice and he sighed. 

Still feeling waves of guilt coursing through me, I responded tersely.

"We can't all be like you, Mr. High and Mighty! The rest of the world makes mistakes!"

I didn't stop there and I won't repeat what I said here. Suffice it to say, the recipient of my tirade didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of my foolish, cruel words.

Turning on my heel, I stormed out of the family room, but the guilt began to slow my movements before I made it to the back door. I knew I was wrong for speaking to my husband the way I just did. The shame was emanating from my pores as I reached the patio.

But the feeling flooding my soul at that moment was oppressive and suffocating. It felt as if the hot, humid air around me was closing a fist around my spirit. Cornered and powerless to stop the onslaught, I hung my head and began to cry.

The feeling was familiar; I knew it well.

Conviction.

As if someone had flipped the switch on the playback of the past ten minutes, I was assaulted with the spilling soda as it cascaded over the keyboard and onto the floor. I then saw my husband's pained expression as the words I flung so effortlessly punched holes in his heart.

Each of those illustrations pointed out the unnecessary situation I found myself in.

Had I obeyed the family rule, I wouldn't have ruined the keyboard. 

If I had kept my tongue and dealt with my guilt properly, I wouldn't have lashed out at my husband.

As those revelations shed light on my circumstance, I sobbed openly while I confessed to God and asked for forgiveness. The nasty stain covering my heart slowly began to recede.

Knowing that I wouldn't feel the full effect of my Father's forgiveness until I completed another task, I silently opened the sliding glass door and stepped inside.

I found him in the bathroom, keyboard in hand, drying the the keys and components with a bath towel. I timidly approached the man that I had just spit venom at and lightly tapped his shoulder.

His piercing blue eyes softened when he saw the humbled, tear-stained green ones looking back at him. 

I mustered up the courage to speak and said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been drinking soda by the computer and I shouldn't have spoken to you that way. Will you forgive me...please?"

He stood there quietly for a moment, pondering my words and then looking deep into my eyes. He then reached out to brush a lock of hair from my eyes and said, "I know you are. It's ok. I forgive you."

As suddenly as conviction settled upon my spirit, a new wave began swirling about; one that removed the choke hold on my soul and in its place, left a different kind of flood.

Grace.

Peace.

Love.

Your sin prompts your mouth;
you adopt the tongue of the crafty.

Your own mouth condemns you, not mine;
your own lips testify against you. Job 15:5-6

For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.
Colossians 1:13-14

Originally posted on my old blog © The Peach Pages