I Am a Leaky Bucket, and Other Thoughts on Marriage

Nathanael and I recently started listening to an audio recording of the book Love & War by John and Stasi Eldredge. As we were driving and listening to part of an early chapter, the authors introduced the idea of what they call “styles of relating.” I think I understand the concept now that Nathanael explained it to me. It boils down to how we each relate to the world around us and to people we encounter. I think it’s sort of like relational coping mechanisms. Stasi gave the example that she is a very structured person; structure helps her navigate her life and the relationships in it. That’s just one piece of her particular style of relating. Her husband, John, on the other hand is very spontaneous. He relates to his world in a far less predictable way than his wife does, and that difference sometimes causes friction in their marriage.

We paused the audiobook to try to figure out our own styles of relating and how they complement and conflict with each other.

We talked about a lot of things, but one idea that surfaced during our conversation grabbed our attention for most of the rest of our drive. We defined it as having different “need thresholds.” Nathanael is way more independent than I am when it comes to relating to people. Particularly in our relationship, I’m the needy one. Not needy in a necessarily bad way, although sometimes I can be that too, but I just need various aspects of our relationship to be attended to more frequently or in more depth than he does. My need for conversation, intimacy, fun, romance, etc. often seems to outweigh his, and we’re both frustrated by that time and again. I think “Why doesn’t he feel the need to spend time talking about serious things?” or “Does he not desire or need romance between us?” or “How is he ok with the lack of intimacy lately when I feel like there’s a huge problem in our marriage?” Meanwhile he thinks things like “Why is she feeling alone or neglected when we spent so much quality time together over the past few days?” or “How do I prioritize which of her needs to meet when I only have so much time?” or “I don’t feel like something is lacking in our relationship; we have a great marriage. What is she talking about?”

This realization of our different “need thresholds” was a revelation to us. I felt like we finally identified a major root of some ongoing issues we’ve had in our marriage. Nathanael doesn’t need us to pay as much attention to various areas of our relationship as I do, and that makes me feel like I’m too needy, so I try to change that, and I end up feeling like there’s just something wrong with me. Or I feel like he doesn’t need me at all, which makes us both feel bad, me because I feel unnecessary to what is supposed to be a partnership, and him because he feels like he is too independent. But as we talked that day in the car, Nathanael was able to pinpoint and explain to me that he does need the same things I do, but as we spend time together fulfilling the recurring needs I have, his needs are already met along the way. They don’t surface as being unmet because they’re pretty constantly taken care of. When he said that, my husband spoke such peace to my soul. He does need me. I am taking care of him. In a weird way, my being needy actually fulfills a lot of relational needs he has.

And then we listened further in the book, and discovered that while all of the above is helpful for us to understand each other, there is something even deeper than our styles of relating to each other or how needy we each are that we’re often missing, and that is this truth:

We cannot satisfy each other.

We are both leaky buckets. No matter how much we pour into our relationship, we will always be left desiring more, wondering why the feeling of fulfillment doesn’t last, questioning what’s wrong with us that we can’t seem to make the other person happy or stay happy ourselves when our spouse really is putting so much into the relationship. But it’s not our job to make each other happy. Only God can truly satisfy all of the cravings of our souls. And that should not cause disappointment that now my husband is off the hook at trying to take care of me, but it should cause joy for each of us because the pressure is off to complete an impossible task. The authors explained that we are all created to go to Jesus as our source of joy, happiness, completeness, meaning, etc., and having done that, we can enjoy our marriages so much more because now we have something other than our imperfect selves to offer.

You may be thinking “Duh, Lizi. Everyone who knows anything about following Jesus knows He is the only true source of satisfaction.” And yeah, I knew that too. But I needed to learn it again. And I will probably need to learn it again later, because I am, as we all are, a work in progress. And I for one have a long way to go.

In the meantime, I am overjoyed to know that Nathanael and I both have access to the one Person who can satisfy us. And while we have differences in what we need from each other for our marriage to work properly, we both have an equal need to be filled by God, and without addressing that first we have no way of even hoping to take care of all that other stuff. When we each go to Christ to fill up our leaky buckets, He is able to give us something that lasts despite our brokenness: Himself. And with His life in us, we can actually love each other.

So here’s to a new day of seeking God, not just for myself but also so that I am not a complete nuisance to my husband :-P

Beauty for Ashes

My last class of my first semester as a grad student was on Monday night. The course was called "Teaching Writing," and a major component of it was to practice what we will (hopefully) someday teach. As part of a final portfolio, we all had to submit a polished poem, fiction piece, and memoir. For our last class meeting, everyone read aloud one of their pieces.

When I arrived on campus Monday night, I still wasn't sure which piece I would read. I wanted to share my memoir about the loss of my friend David last summer, but it was too long for the five minute time limit, and even if I read an excerpt I knew I would cry. That's just who I am; I cry when asked to speak about or read anything that matters to me in front of an audience.

The guy whose turn came right before mine sat down in the "author's chair" and stated, "I had planned on reading my fiction piece, but then I realized that would be the easy choice,  so I'm going to read my memoir."

Yes, God, I heard that message loud and clear. Thank you.

I would be reading my memoir.

I ended up reading almost all of it, which I felt bad for because I took up too much time, and I cried off and on (let's be honest, mostly on) from the first line. But I felt that for some reason God really wanted me to share this story with my classmates.

I also titled the piece on the spot. Just before my turn came, I realized I hadn't come up with a title. I glanced through the pages and this phrase jumped out at me: "beauty for ashes."

In the memoir, I talk about realizing how many lives David had touched by the number of people and inspiring stories shared at his funeral. To me, that was the beauty received in exchange for the ashes, the joy given in place of our mourning, the garment of praise in exchange for our heaviness (Isaiah 61:3).

Since reading my memoir to my class, the idea of beauty for ashes has been popping up all over, along with another main thread in my memoir about my expectations not being met but receiving some sort of blessing far different from what I hoped for, instead.

The song and poems I'm quoting in this post reflect some of the sweet, but difficult, things God has been teaching me.

For the past few days, this simple song by Shane and Shane has been drifting in and out of my mind:

Beauty for ashes
A garment of praise for my heaviness
Beauty for ashes
Take this heart of stone and make it Yours

I delight myself in the Richest of Fair
Trading all that I've had for all that is better
A garment of praise for my heaviness
You are the greatest taste
You're the richest of fair

Listen to Shane and Shane's "Beauty for Ashes" here

Then, the devotional I'm currently reading (Streams in the Desert) echoed the thought I arrived at through writing my memoir in the first place: God's answers don't always look the way we expect them to. The poem included in the May 13th entry captures the idea beautifully:

I prayed for strength, and then I lost awhile

All sense of nearness, human and divine;

The love I leaned on failed and pierced my heart,

The hands I clung to loosed themselves from mine;

But while I swayed, weak, trembling, and alone,

The everlasting arms upheld my own.

I prayed for light; the sun went down in clouds,

The moon was darkened by a misty doubt,

The stars of heaven were dimmed by earthly fears,

And all my little candle flames burned out;

But while I sat in shadow, wrapped in night,

The face of Christ made all the darkness bright.

I prayed for peace, and dreamed of restful ease,

A slumber drugged from pain, a hushed repose;

Above my head the skies were black with storm,

And fiercer grew the onslaught of my foes;

But while the battle raged, and wild winds blew,

I heard His voice and Perfect peace I knew.

I thank Thee, Lord, Thou wert too wise to heed

My feeble prayers, and answer as I sought,

Since these rich gifts Thy bounty has bestowed

Have brought me more than all I asked or thought;

Giver of good, so answer each request

With Thine own giving, better than my best.

--Annie Johnson Flint


And finally, yesterday morning's devotional articulated far better than I could that even when life's circumstances don't make sense to me, I know I can trust God because He knows the bigger picture and He is the one authoring this story.

Unfortunately no author was given for this one:

I cannot know why suddenly the storm 

Should rage so fiercely round me in its wrath; 

But this I know—God watches all my path, 
      And I can trust.

I may not draw aside the mystic veil 

That hides the unknown future from my sight, 

Nor know if for me waits the dark or light; 

      But I can trust.

I have no power to look across the tide, 

To see while here the land beyond the river; 

But this I , know—I shall be Gods forever; 

      So I can trust.

---

What is that Mustard Seed like, Anyway?

Many of us have probably heard this statement of Jesus’s before:

“Truly, I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.”

I’ve often met this quote from Matthew 17:20 with a discouraged attitude. Faith as small as a mustard seed can do that? Man, my faith must be smaller than a grain of salt, then. But on Friday I had the opportunity to hear a new perspective on this verse while attending a writers’ retreat with my mom.

Have you ever been curious enough about the actual mustard seed and the plant that grows from it to do some research on the topic? I haven’t. Instead, I got to benefit from listening to someone else who had looked into this tiny seed, and I learned a bit of information that has opened my eyes about this matter of faith. Then I looked up the information she shared so that I could pass it along to my readers.

Here is what ehow.com says about growing a mustard tree (or shrub, as I think its actual horticultural categorization would call it):

“The mustard tree originates from Persia. It grows best in hot, dry climates. The ideal soil for the mustard tree is sandy and well-drained. The mustard tree can grow in U.S. hardiness zones 7 to 11. Humid temperatures and climates may stunt the growth of the tree or cause mold problems.”

The same website notes that in caring for a mustard tree, “The tree does not need watering, nor does it require many nutrients for healthy growth…. The fruit should be harvested as soon as it is ripe.”

This tiny seed that produces a tree that grows best in what sounds like a desert, is stunted by humidity, doesn’t need to be watered, and has its fruit picked quickly represents faith that can move mountains, according to Jesus. What does that say about the sort of “climate” that my faith needs in order to grow?

Dry. Hot.

In other words, uncomfortable. I’ll be the first to admit that the second things become unpleasant I am running to God asking Him to fix it. Put the temperature back to about 72 degrees Fahrenheit, please, and make it just moist enough that my skin doesn’t dry out but not so much that I feel sweaty sitting still. Thanks.

This would kill my mustard seed faith. My growth would be stunted. I would have “mold problems,” whatever that might translate to in this metaphor.

God knows how to grow faith and ripen its fruit. He knows that I won’t depend on, believe in, and learn to trust Him if life gets too comfortable. He knows that dryness makes me run to Him to quench my deepest thirst. He knows that as soon as fruit is produced in me (perhaps love, joy, peace, patience, self-control, etc.? See Galatians 5:22-23), it must be picked before it rots and is no longer good for food; then more fruit can grow in its place. He knows what I want, but He also knows what I need.

Whatever the question is, He knows.

And when I trust Him to lead me through the desert, faith grows just a little bit stronger in me, and God is free to make forward progress on the masterpiece He is crafting.

The Price of Damaged Goods

Sunday was Easter. More people all over the world probably thought of Jesus Christ's death and resurrection than on any other day of the year, Christian or not. The group of Christians I meet with every Sunday morning also reflected on, sang about, and talked about this monumental event and what it means for us. I'm not going to try to explain all of what Christ's death and eternal life means in this little post, but there was one particular point in the message that was spoken Sunday morning that I haven't been able to stop thinking about.

The speaker, a guy named Dave, was saying that when Jesus died, He bought every person who believes into Him with His blood. Then Dave asked the question, "But what did He get for His purchase? I don't know about you, maybe you're perfect, but when Jesus bought me, He got damaged goods." He used the illustration of going to a computer store and shopping in the refurbished section. "We're refurbs," he said. There might be, and probably are, things wrong with us that go unnoticed at first glance, but those glitches can cause major malfunctions down the road.

Think about your experience, or that of someone you know, of buying damaged goods. Even though it can stink to discover an imperfection in an item you want to buy from a store, isn't it sometimes also a little bit exciting? Why would she say that? you might be asking. Because that means you can argue for a discount!

"These pants have a spot on them, can you reduce the price for me?"
"The screen is cracked on this computer monitor, can I get a discount?"
"The button on my iPhone stopped working, will you give me a brand new one for free?"

Broken stuff is cheaper!

But wait a second. I don't remember the story including anything about Jesus getting a discount because He bought damaged goods. Lots of damaged goods, at that. It's not just me, and it's not just you. It's everybody. We're all guaranteed to be flawed because of the sinful nature inside each and every one of us. So where is Jesus's discount?! He knew going into this that He was redeeming, meaning "buying back," broken people. It's as if He walked into the refurb section of an electronics store, saw an old, poorly repaired model of a computer, and said, "How much is that one? Oh, it's only $100? How about if I give you $1,000,000 for it!"

He laid down not just His physical, human life, but His perfect union with the Father that had never been broken from eternity past. He had committed no wrong, transgressed not a single law, in fact He had fulfilled the entire Jewish law in the way He lived His life, yet He chose to pay the price of total separation from His Father, with whom He had only ever known total oneness, so that I wouldn't have to know that separation now, in the judgment day, or ever. So that you wouldn't have to. So that we could all stop trying to pay our own way into God's presence because we. can't. do. it.

Only Jesus could do it.
Only He could pay that price.

He paid the highest price possible, and look what He has to show for it: damaged goods.

It's illogical to me. It's above and beyond what was needed, isn't it? Couldn't there have been a simpler way that seemed more fair?

Why would God want imperfect people?

So that He could make a treasure out of our brokenness that is beyond what we can even imagine.

What Love Really Means

I saw love this week. Love in action, demonstrating its true definition.

Love is patient and kind

      I was sick at the beginning of the week. The gross, ugly kind of sick that nobody wants to be around. My husband, Nathanael, took care of me with such patience and kindness I almost wanted to cry with gratefulness. He brought me things to drink, to try to eat, and medicine to take; he went to the store and bought possibly all of the Gatorade and Powerade on the shelves; he said yes to my crazy requests without hesitation, such as making up a very comfy bed for me on the bathroom floor so that I wouldn’t have to move much.

Love bears all things and endures all things

      Wherever he was in the house, as soon as he heard me start retching in the bathroom he would come stand next to me and rub my back. Rather than spare himself the repulsive assault on his senses, he chose to do whatever he could to try to make me feel better. I still felt sick and awful, but I felt so loved.

Love is not arrogant or rude.

      When I started getting dizzy either from dehydration or my heart racing from anxiety, he decided to take me to the ER to get some fluids and medicine in me since my stomach refused to let these things take up residence. As soon as we walked in the doors of the hospital I sat down and threw up in the bathroom trash can we’d brought with us. He sat with me in my humble state and waited for me to be ready to move again. He showed no signs of mortification at how gross I was in public. Without being asked, he carried the offensive bucket around until there was a place to clean it out.

Love is not irritable or resentful; Love does not insist on its own way

      We got to the ER around 11pm. We were there until about 2:15am. He had to be at work the next morning by 8:30, but he didn’t complain about being up so late a single time. At one point when I asked what time it was, he said, “Don’t worry about it.” He wasn’t concerned for himself and his need to sleep at all.

      When I was cold he took off his sweatshirt and added it on top of my blanket. When I was still cold he balanced himself lying next to me as well as he could on the narrow hospital bed to try to warm me up. I doubt he was able to rest like that, but he never complained.

Love never ends.

      Even when Nathanael also became sick early Monday morning and it was me trying to take care of him, he never stopped showing concern for how I felt. While we napped the day away, if I got out of bed or moved around a lot he would immediately wake up and ask, “Are you ok?”

He is so selfless. He is patient and kind and endures everything with such grace. He is not arrogant or rude or irritable or resentful. He never insists that things go his way. He loves whether I deserve it or not. He loves whether I am lovable or not.

I hope I can learn to love as truly as he does.

Verses excerpted from 1 Corinthians 13:4-8

Hidden Treasures in Isaiah

I was reading in Isaiah 16 and 17 this morning, totally on a whim, and about the time I found myself thinking "Why am I reading this, it's a big list of places I don't know and how they're going to be destroyed and struck with famine and stuff." Not exactly the encouragement in the Word I was hoping for this morning to stir me out of my sleepy, whiny state of being.

Then I got to 17:7-8, which says:
"In that day man will look to his Maker, and his eyes will look on the Holy One of Israel. He will not look to the altars, the work of his hands, and he will not look on what his own fingers have made, either the Asherim or the altars of incense." (ESV)

I've never built an altar or Asherim, but I definitely do look to the works of my own hands. I rely on my own accomplishments. When something seems unfair I think, "But I did this," and point to what my own fingers have made, as if that should justify me and make the unfairness go away.

But in that day, which I think refers to the day of judgment because this section talks about the Lord sending famine and destruction on unrighteous cities, "man will look to his Maker."

I wonder why it doesn't say man will look to "the true God" or "the Savior" or some other name for God. His Maker... It's so basic.

As I'm typing this and pondering it more, it occurred to me that these verses aren't about idol worship, even though it mentions altars and Asherim (some sort of object related to idol worship back in the day), God's concern doesn't seem to be what we're worshiping in this instance. It's who made what, and where we're assigning credit. We make much of ourselves for our successes, such as carving something out of wood like in this verse, but God made that wood, and even better, He made you and me, the folks so often caught saying "hey look what I did!"

I'm reminded today to forget what I did or can do. Look what God did.

A few verses later it talks about people who have forgotten "the God of your salvation... the Rock of your refuge." Lord, I don't want to forget You. Keep my heart remembering who You are. You are my Maker, my Salvation, my Rock of refuge. Thank You for Your mercy, Father, and for the wonderful treasures You hide in Your Word, even in the middle of chapters that seem confusing or irrelevant.

A "Happy Halloween" Fiasco

The light is green, people, go! She thought, baffled by the lack of rushing during this cold, misty rush hour. Green arrow, green arrow, come on, go faster, I’m going to miss the – great! So much for making the arrow. With a sigh, she rolled to a stop in the intersection and stared blankly at the cars on the opposite side that were, unbelievably, not proceeding through the intersection.

I could have gone. They’re not even moving! Shaking her head, she resigned herself to simply not being home in time to hand out candy to the first of the trick-or-treaters. Well, maybe I should have been more forthright in wanting to meet my neighbors instead of luring them into friendship with candy for their children…

The last of the pokey cars in the oncoming traffic bumbled by, just shy of stopping in the middle of the intersection, and she carefully pulled around the back of the car to execute the left-turn that would line her up with the highway entrance. On my way, at –

THUMP! ROOOARING SCRAAAAAAAAAAAPE!

Ah! What is that?! That’s my car! My car is making a very bad noise! Something fell off of it. Oh gosh. Lord, please don’t let it blow up! Ok, pull over, where can I pull over? There! Perfect! All of this noise erupted both outside the car and inside her mind within no more than half a second, and she probably hadn’t moved more than ten yards down the street before making it to the curb.

The misty drizzle grew thicker.

Flashers on – my gosh that sound is horrible! Engine off – no more sound. Lock the doors. No. I have to see what fell off. Unlock the doors. Boy this neighborhood looks sketchy. Maybe it’s not sketchy. Ok, no traffic, open the door.

She stepped into the road and quickly moved to the back of her car. No sense in being run over by her own car should someone somehow miss the flashers flashing in the misty, depressing dusk and rear end the parked vehicle while she was peering underneath it from the front. Better to hope someone would see her on the ground and simply not hit anything.

She squatted behind the car and hung her head sideways. Oh… My… The long pipe thing that she was pretty sure was her muffler was lying on the ground at the front end where it should have been connected to the engine or at least something near the engine. This is not good…

She stood and quickly slipped back into the driver’s seat, locking the doors before the door had closed beside her.

Phone. Where’s my phone? I have to call Dave. He should be leaving work soon, he’ll go right by here, he could pass by and leave me here if he misses my call – oh please don’t miss my call! She listened to the phone ringing, two rings, three, four – voicemail. She hung up and dialed again. Ring, etcetera, voicemail.

Argh! You have a brand new shiny phone that works perfectly why aren’t you answering now that I need you to answer more than I typically need you to answer?! She was just calm enough to notice how odd it was that she was not actually screaming this at the glowing device in her hand.

She slid the phone open to text her beloved the following: “I need you to call me NOW.” Three seconds passed. She dialed again. Voicemail. “Oh, come on!” She yelled audibly. She texted again: “Muffler fell off. Stranded.” Incomplete sentences are good for sparking alarm in someone, right?

It suddenly occurred to her that she should consider what to do about the car, not just worry about how to get a ride home. Will I get a ticket if I leave it here over night? The nearest parking sign was too far away to see, and now that it was raining in earnest and getting darker, she didn’t really want to go see what  permissions it would grant or deny.

She dialed her father. Somehow in the near year she had lived away from home she still had not accepted that he might not be able to fix any of her car troubles from three states away.

“Yello,” he answered.

“Hi. My muffler fell off.”

“That would make a loud noise.”

“Yeah, even worse than normal believe it or not, and a loud scraping noise. It fell off at the front end. Dave isn’t answering and I don’t know when he’s getting off work. Would AAA tow me to a shop or something? Does that cost extra or is it part of the membership?”

“At the front end?”

“Yes. Should I call AAA?”

“Are you dressed nice?”

“What?”

“Are you dressed nice?”

“Am I dressed nice?” What in the world does that have to do with anything? “What do you – I’m wearing jeans. Jeans and a sweatshirt. Why?”

“Well, you could crawl under the car at the back end of the car and see if there’s anything there that you can disconnect so that the other end comes off too.”

… Disconnect the… What? Isn’t the point to figure out how to get the broken part back on the car, not break it more? “You want me to take the whole muffler off of my car?”

“It’s an option.”

“And do what? Leave it in the road and drive home?” This sounds ludicrous! You can’t just leave large car parts in parking spaces on the side of the road! Can you?

“Yeah. Or see how long AAA would be. They might take an hour to get to you. They can tow you anywhere in 50 miles, or maybe 100 if you have a plus on your card. Do you have the plus on your card? You can tell them what garage you want to go to, do you know a garage you can take it to? Is there a place like where we go here, that uh, uh…What’s it called…” The sound of something being shuffled around in the background began, mingled with “uh…”

“I have a plus on my card. I’m not that far from home anyway”

“Ok, then they can take you pretty much wherever you want in town. Do you have a place you take your cars like that place we go here? What’s that called…”

“Tuned Up?”

“Yeah, do you have that? Or some kind of muffler place?”

“I’ve never seen a Tuned Up here. There’s a muffler place where we get our oil changed called Miles’.”

“Or that mechanic where Mom took our car when she was there. They seemed good.”

“I don’t remember the name of that… It starts with an H… Uh…” I am so much like my father! “Are you near a computer? It’s on Harlem. It starts with an H. It’s near Cheyenne and Duke.” A few minutes later he had located the mechanic’s shop that began with an H and given her the phone number and address for both places.

“A muffler place might give you a better deal. A mechanic would probably have to order parts and have them brought in from somewhere, but a muffler place might have whatever they need already to just put it back together.”

After all the effort to remember and find the place with the H we’re just throwing it out? Alright. “Ok well I need to find out if they’ll take the car anyway, and call AAA.”

“Ok. See ya.”

“Bye. Thanks!”

After a call to the muffler place and AAA she finally heard from Dave who, after going in circles together about different options for a few minutes, decided to finish his work and then pick her up in about forty-five minutes. That would be just before the tow truck should arrive, too. In the meantime she called the friend she’d been visiting to find out if she would mind picking her up and taking her somewhere warm to sit and wait.

While she waited for her friend she noticed just how thoroughly soaked the rug under her pedals was thanks to the small leak in her car’s roof. For the next ten minutes she watched the windows become foggier, the sky grow darker, tried to warm her fingers, and listened to the repeating squiiiiiisssshhhhh of water as she rocked her left foot back and forth on top of the sopping rug. Eventually, she recalled the stack of books next to her on the seat that she had borrowed from her friend’s impressive stash, so she picked up the first one and began reading. The Zookeeper’s Wife. Interesting title. She was quickly engrossed, but didn’t make it far before her friend pulled up and she climbed into her nicer, dryer, warmer vehicle.

“Here, let’s turn on the seat warmer for you,” her friend, Grace, said as she slid gratefully into the passenger seat.

Seat warmer?! She thought blissfully. They chatted until the tow truck showed up and the man looked under car then declared, “Ouch.”

“Yeah…” She agreed. Handing over her keys, he clarified where the car would be taken to and asked if her friend wouldn’t mind letting him take her parking spot just in front of the incapacitated vehicle, perfect for loading the car without his having to block traffic.

“That’s why we picked it!” Grace smiled.

Oh, really? She wondered, impressed by her friend’s forethought. She would have considered the parking arrangement a lucky coincidence. She and Grace slid back into the seat warmer equipped vehicle and she said, “I’ll call Dave to let him know the tow truck is here so he can come get me.”

“Oh no, I’ll just take you home.”

“But he has my keys,” she said, her thumb pointing over her shoulder to where the tow truck man was waiting for their parking spot.

“You don’t give them all your keys, just your car key.”

“Well my house key is the only other one on that ring.”

“You don’t give away your house key.”

“Right… That makes sense…” Idiot! She chided herself. How is that you are so blonde sometimes even though you convince people you’re smart? Good thing there are real adults around to rescue you.

After retrieving her house key from the tow trunk man she got back in the car, thanked Grace, and accepted the ride home.

“I’d been trying to decide if I should pass out candy and try to meet my neighbors tonight or go to the campus Bible study, and I finally decided to do half of both, but now it looks like I won’t get to do either.”

“I think you already missed the trick-or-treating. It ends in five minutes,” Grace nodded to the clock.

“So much for needing to decide.” She consented. “Maybe I'll go reverse trick-or-treating tomorrow and go door to door handing out candy and introducing myself as the girl who missed Halloween because her muffler fell off.”

After arriving home and thanking Grace one more time, she went inside and stared at all the candy sitting in her salad bowl. That’s ironic… She thought.

A total of three families of trick-or-treaters came to the door and gladly accepted the handfuls of candy she doled out.

She did not meet a single neighbor, but it was certainly a more eventful Halloween than she had anticipated.

The above story was inspired by entirely true events. Names and places have been changed. This is also a rather rough draft and would be trimmed down quite a bit if I ever tried to publish it. Hope you enjoyed!