Prayer

I was painting the other night.
Feeling pretty ambitious.
The boys were gone.
It was just Julia and me.

Julia was my helper.
An awesome one, as a matter of fact.
She was trimming around the electrical boxes.
She was rolling paint.
She was cleaning up after herself.
She was being very careful.

I wish I would have followed in her footsteps.
In my haste, I laid the drop cloth down on the wrong side.
The side that didn't absorb the paint.
So I had to roll up the drop cloth and drag the other drop cloths around the room behind me.

I missed a spot of carpet.

I stepped on the tray of paint and catapulted paint up and onto the bare spot of carpet.

A quarter of a gallon of navy blue paint.

Let's just say that my language got colorful.
I mean quite colorful.
Julia's little ears heard things come out of my mouth that she hadn't heard come out of my mouth before.

I finished my rant and self-abuse in tears.
Recognizing my immaturity, I apologized to Julia
for being so mean to myself
for getting so mad
for saying bad words.

Julia thought for a moment - a pregnant pause - perfectly timed and said,
"Wow, Mom. You are going to have to pray to Jesus A LOT 'cause of all those bad words you said."
"You're right," I replied.

Prayer was just what I needed at that moment.
Leave it to a child to teach an adult to slow down,
pause,
and get in touch with God.

Oh - by the way - the room looks fantastic.
The carpet? Not so much.