Wednesday, February 15, 2012

"It's Just An Object."

    I know it was "just an object" and I shouldn't have cried, but I did.
    Do you remember my book launch for "The Golden Sky?"
    I gave away an iPad2 as part of the launch. 


    Well, we hardly ever get anything new.  Our couches are used.  Our dishwasher, fridge, everything is used.  I actually love it--how even my wedding ring is used--because it makes our little house and life magical, honestly.  I know so many memories float around.  I always wonder who had this ring before me.  Did she get divorced . . . or die in a tragic accident that will someday befall me BECAUSE I STILL WEAR THE FLIPPIN' RING?  Did someone steal it from her before bringing it to the pawn shop!  You know what, as long as it wasn't a product of divorce, then I'm good to go.
    Anyway, my parents are AMAZING.  My dad must have known what a sacrifice it was to give a BRAND NEW iPad2 away.  That's why I think he got us one for Christmas.  I cried after opening it, becoming a genuine ball baby as I turned to my parents.  "This means so much," I blubbered like I had a fat lip.  "You're the best!"
    So, yesterday when I couldn't find the iPad2, I should have known something was wrong.  It's off limits for the kids.  Yes, they used it for the Cinnamon Challenge. Which I shouldn't have condoned. 
    "Has anyone seen the iPad?" I asked my angels, but no one fessed up.  Then I found it, resting under newspapers and bills.  My mouth dropped to the floor.  My eyes turned red and steam billowed from my ears.  "WHO DID THIS?!"
    The thing is, it still works, but the glass at the edge of the iPad had shattered.  It made me sick.  I couldn't breathe.
    The Hippie tugged on my shirt.  "I cleaned the whole basement," she said.  "I put the shoes away.  I folded my clothes.  I'll do the dishes.  I'll change Dr. Jones' diapers for a year.  I'll make breakfast!  I'LL EAT HOT PEPPERS.  I'LL LIVE HERE . . . FOREVER," she whispered before crying like the house was on fire.  "I'll be your slave!"
    Somehow I couldn't be super mean.  I held my iPad-lovin' anger at bay.  "Did . . . you do this?" 
    "Yes," she sobbed.
    "You're grounded from video games and TV for two weeks."  She got off easy; and I was so sweet--I'd just bought a ticket to Heaven!  "You also need to help with extra chores to help pay for a portion of this."  Who was I kidding?  She'd put five bucks toward it!  Still though, I remained calm, and I felt proud until the Scribe actually smiled.
    "Too bad, Hippie.  You'd never see me doing something like that.  I wouldn't break the iPad.  I wouldn't even touch it," the Scribe said.
    I erupted with frustration at that point.  I screamed so loud the neighbors probably went deaf, and now I'll go to Hell.
    "HOW . . . DARE YOU TRY TO MAKE YOURSELF LOOK GOOD  . . . THROUGH THIS!" My voice turned terrible, like acid rain that doesn't make you a super hero!  "Clean, the house NOW.  All of you!"
    The Hippie stopped crying and went to work.  She wore ear muffs and I knew she couldn't hear anything else as she whirred, dusting and vacuuming.
    The babies dances around the vacuum because nothing phases them--not even my mean voice.
    The Scribe locked herself in her bedroom and said she was cleaning.  But when I opened the door, her window stretched wide open and she sat drawing and writing!
    "That's it!  I'm going to get coffee before I flip out even worse.  I'll be back in five minutes.  This place better be clean when I get back."
    So, I left, bought my coffee and came back.  When I turned on our street, I noticed a bunch of scroll-shaped papers rolling in the wind.  I stepped from my car and was lucky enough to grab one before it spun away.
    This is what it said--in the Scribe's writing:

    Read This! 
    Whoever is reading this. God loves us even you! God maid everything that is hear this very day. He gave you, food and water. Love God and ask him to be in you're heart. 

- He loves you.

    Somehow a little bit of my anger dissipated.  The Scribe had spread God's Word--EVERYWHERE--and it was rolling down the street!  I went inside and all of the kids were finally cleaning.  
    I sat down with my coffee and put my head into my hands.  Sure the iPad2 was just an object, but if my parents find out, they would be super disappointed.  
    I opened my eyes.  The Scribe's letter sprawled in front of me, next to the broken iPad2 and the Scribe's Bible.  I opened the Bible, hoping it would say something that might help.

    I read part of Proverbs 4:7
   Though it cost all you have, get understanding.

    I can't explain, but I felt something so strongly.  The iPad2 was an object--that was a fact--the reality of it brought true understanding.  The kids needed to learn from the situation--this presented a time where I could teach them something important: if someone tells you not to touch something, you shouldn't.  
    Yes, it sucked, but my kids were okay, they were all right and not in Heaven with their brother Zeke.  Plus, I would never tell my family about the iPad--I'd take that info to the grave or die right after they found out and killed me.

In closing . . .
    What do you do in situations like this?  I'm sad, but at least the iPad still works for now.  And who knows, maybe I can get it fixed someday when robots roam the Earth . . .