Chipotle Run

When your husband decides he’s “all in” for the triathlete world, your life changes. And when your own previous exercise included walking to the mailbox every three days, said change is drastic. 

Today was the perfect example. Rob has a fairly unpredictable schedule as a nurse anesthetist and occasionally there are days when he gets to leave the hospital before lunch. An early departure in the pre-triathlon days would send me running to preheat the oven for chocolate chip cookies, settling babies into early naps and searching for our last stopping point in our perpetual NCIS marathon. These days, however, an early departure typically means an invitation to run. Not to the fridge for cookie dough. Not anywhere. Just running. In circles. Now I know I completed a triathlon this summer, but I still don't find running to be fun or enjoyable. I do love my husband very much and we like to spend his unexpected off days together, so after getting everyone dressed for the third time, we headed to meet the excited triathlete at the gym. We dropped all the kids in the childcare area and I denied the temptation -once again- to detour to Heritage House for an hour to write and drink coffee instead. After walking a few laps and having uninterrupted conversation, I forgot that I didn't want to be there in the first place. It was fun! And then the running started. I tried to be a good sport, but here's the deal: I can be a brat. I took two different five minute water breaks and then decided I would finish running the last few minutes with my man. "Almost half way! Let's go!" he cheered in his ridiculously energetic pep talk voice. I don't remember exactly what happened next, but there were secret tears and not-so-secret tears and a quick exit to the bathroom because it was break time again. I might have passed out. I'm not really sure. Rob chose to be done with his half marathon for the day and we hiked up to get the kids. 

I know from experience that kids feed off their parents' emotions and attitudes. So, in their defense, I didn't set my children up well with my pouting through the gym parking lot and in the car on the way to Chipotle. But the next 20 minutes of our lives were all around not our best work. There was whining and crying, possibly some fire and gnashing of teeth. The food was too hot. There wasn't enough cheese. Evan was so over waiting between bites. And then some rice was thrown and I gave Rob the let's-get-the-heck-outta-here look along with all the other poor souls who came in expecting a laid back burrito experience on their lunch breaks. We carried all 3 kids and our barely eaten lunches out of the doors. To be exact, I ran. I ran out of Chipotle with a baby carrier hooked on one arm and a three year old in the other. Then in a moment of lapsed judgment as I strapped kids into their seats, I served the consequence. Even as the words spilled out of my mouth, I already regretted them. "We are not eating in a restaurant for five days. Five whole days. Because of the way y'all acted in there." Five is the biggest number to Kate. It's like the ultimate number. So this was the maximum sentence. Really it was probably over the top, but I was still picking rice off my leg so it felt fitting. The part I regretted was giving a consequence that affected me most of all. Because now I have to cook and serve every meal at home for five days. Five whole days.

Our actions have consequences, and like the ripple effect of a pebble tossed into the water, those consequences affect the people around us. Especially those closest to us. My attitude this morning was selfish and it spilled over into the lives of those I love. I got angry at my husband whose intentions were good. I got angry at my kids who were actually too tired to go out to lunch in the first place. In my anger, I served a consequence that was not well thought out. And as much as I wanted to blame everyone else on the way home, I was the one in the wrong. 

It's on my worst days that I'm most thankful for grace. The freedom to run to Him, already forgiven if we're in Christ. Paul writes in Ephesians 3:12, "In him and through faith in him we may approach God with freedom and confidence." Hallelujah! With rice in my hair and shaky from embarrassment, I can turn again to the One who has wiped my slate clean once and for all. I am free. And I've been instructed to use my freedom to serve others in love (Galatians 5:13). It's funny how God works all these things out for his glory. I'm headed home to serve my family the first of our "consequence meals." I'll ask for their forgiveness and then serve the ones I love most. Serving food and serving grace. For five whole days.