I told him that the good news was that he probably wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
The bad news was that he was going to have to write a eulogy for the roast. I had decided that we would be having a special service for the roast after Dad came home, then we would throw it out. (Note: this is not the norm in the Collier home. Sometimes we need a little humor with our grace, though, right?!)
“What? Are you serious?” (Teenagers…so cute.)
Oh, yes. When it comes to humor, I’m always serious.
So, off to his room he went, a little confused but sure of his assignment.
After David came home, our little family of four gathered in the kitchen, each holding onto the garbage bag that contained the doomed roast. Even our dogs came to sit in our circle…most likely because they hoped we’d drop the bag, but still…
Henry cleared his throat and read:
“Today we honor the memory of the Roast of 2017. It was a good roast. It smelled excellent as it was cooking throughout the day. It will be well remembered by me, Ethan, and the crock pot for the wonderful aroma it provided for its short life. It was gone too soon, and I’m sure it’s looking down on us from roast heaven.”
Ethan, our youngest son, had a hard time keeping it together (laughter, not tears), probably because I kept interjecting impassioned phrases like, “Fix it, Jesus!” and “We’ll never forget you, roast!”
And with that, we threw out the roast and ordered a pizza, because life is short and pizza is good.
I wish I could say that I always make the best choice…that I always react like Jesus would. I surely don’t.
But on that day, I chose grace. I’m glad I did, too.
Sometimes humor makes a hard day easier. Grace always does.
This article originally appeared at Shadesofmercyandgrace.com.