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“Yeah.” She lifted her shoulder. “But I kept telling myself she didn’t really mean it. Didn’t mean to be mean. And she wouldn’t have been saying that about Owen if she knew he was my son. She was just frustrated because she didn’t want to lose.”
“That’s no excuse for unkindness.”
“No. But I’ve been unkind. Who am I to judge her for her unkindness, when I have just as much unkindness in my past? Maybe even more.” She smiled a little. “I killed my husband a million different ways in my head the year after he cheated and left. Strangled him, tortured him, every time I held my son while he cried and asked when Daddy was going to come home, I wanted to rip him apart, piece by piece, and listen to him scream and cry the way I had to listen to my son scream and cry.”
Maybe she shared too much. That was pretty violent. But it was true. Every word.
“How could I judge those ladies? I mean, yeah. Their words were hurting me, were hurting you, which hurt me, but I have been just as unkind.”
“But you didn’t say it. You didn’t hurt anyone with your words. The thoughts are contained in your head.”
“Jesus said that if you even so much as think about killing someone in your mind, you are as guilty as someone who’s actually done it.” She looked down. “Sometimes I think the only difference between an actual murderer and me is opportunity. And I think that’s what Jesus meant by that. Maybe if my husband had been standing in front of me, maybe if a gun had been handy, or a knife or a baseball bat or a pair of scissors, I would have used whatever it was to hurt him. I just never had that opportunity.”
He nodded slowly, as though digesting her words.
If he regretted sitting beside someone so terrible and holding her hand, she didn’t want to look on his face and know it. So she kept her gaze down, huddled in her jacket.
“I never thought of that that way. I... I’m just as bad as anyone that I could ever judge. And if I’m guilty of murder if I even think about it, then I am a murderer.”
She kept her gaze directed down, but she agreed. It was just a lack of opportunity. Or a different kind of upbringing. Maybe if she wouldn’t have had an upbringing where her parents had cared about her, she would have ended up killing her husband. For real.
Who knew?
“There were certainly people I dreamed of killing in some way, as my world tumbled down around me, with the accident and the whole cancel culture thing. I suppose, too, the accident wasn’t my fault, and the other guy got away with nothing. It was frustrating.”
“Yeah. But I think we’re all given trials like that. Trials where we have to grow and become better, and then we’re given the opportunity to look at others, to offer them the grace that God has given us. So often I fail.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever succeeded. I’m not even sure I’ve tried. That seems like advanced Christianity, and I feel like I’m still in Christianity 101.”
She laughed. “There’s always something to strive for, something to get better at. As we look at ourselves and the more we learn and grow, the more we see ourselves as what we are, as the sinners we are, instead of the saint that we used to think we were.”
“The closer we get to Christ’s perfection, the more his perfection illuminates our imperfection.”
“And not in a bad way. It’s in a way that shows us what we need to work on. Where we need to get better.”
People around them had cleared out of the bleachers, and there were just a few parents standing around waiting for their children.
“Are we still on for tomorrow?” he asked, after a few moments of silence.
“Yes. I was planning on it. I’ll be bringing some groceries. Do you need me to pick anything up?”
“I honestly don’t know. I’ve been doing some research on YouTube... Is it terrible that I’m looking up how to make scalloped potatoes at my age?”
“No. I think it’s sweet.” She looked up at him and saw his grin, but she kinda got the feeling that he liked her words too.
“Maybe you’d better withhold judgment until you taste them. If you leave the table hungry on Sunday, you might not be too happy with me.”
“I don’t think you can mess up cooking a ham. And as long as there’s ham, I’m not going to leave hungry. Plus, we have my pineapple casserole.”
“Can I admit that I’ve been looking forward to that? It’s been years since I’ve had it, and I’m pretty excited.”
“I hope mine tastes like what you’re used to. I’ve seen them made different ways over the years.”
“It won’t matter. Pineapple casserole will taste good no matter what.”
“Are you picking Kendrick up tomorrow?”
“Yeah. She should be there tomorrow afternoon when you get there. She and Paisley.”
