When Rotten Lettuce Condemns

lettuceWe had only twenty minutes before we had to be out the door and on our way to church. I rushed through the kitchen on the way to the laundry room to desperately dig through the baskets looking for clean underwear for my four year old. As I passed the end of the kitchen counter, I stopped in my tracks.

Is that…? Ew. It is. Right there on the edge of the counter, eight inches above the trash can sat my lidded glass bowl which once had a hand full of lettuce past its prime. It had been removed from the fridge and set there, waiting to be dumped into the trash. Life continued and I kept thinking I’d dump it right before the trash gets taken out or the next time I load the dishwasher.

I don’t know how a bowl of lettuce can go ignored for that long, but it did. My incredible glass bowl now held a blackish, slimy liquid, a perfect illustration of decomposition and the life cycle of the fruit fly.

Gross, I know. But what’s even grosser is what happened the moment I noticed it.

“Are you kidding?” my brain yelled at me. “Can you not even manage to clean your own dishes? Look at this house! Just look at it! You’re a complete failure. You can never keep it clean. You suck at parenting too. I mean, if you were a good parent, then your children would always pick up after themselves. You would be working alongside them, teaching them how to clean the kitchen and mop the floor and clean the bathroom. You would all merrily sing like Snow White and the seven dwarfs as you sweep those little puffs of dust out the backdoor. And speaking of your kids… what makes you think you can teach them at home? You fail everyday at that. I mean really, think about all those holes in your teaching. And now you’re going out the door to church where you will smile to every well meaning greeter and lie through your teeth that you’re “doing good”. You can’t even manage to make friends. You’re incredibly awkward and just plain weird. Besides, how can you be a true friend and invite them over when you have rotting lettuce on your kitchen counter?”

Yeah, it was that bad. I fought back tears on the way to church, pouted through Sunday school (being sure to hide it with my smile), and guilted my way through the church service. Why can’t I just get it right? Why am I such a failure in life? I condemned myself over and over and over again. I just want to be successful in something. I just need one thing… just one thing that I attempt to actually succeed… to be at least half way perfect.

I tried to pray about it this evening as I scrubbed the dishes and counters. But I didn’t even know how to pray or what to say. Do I ask Him to provide help? Do I ask Him to teach me to “man up”? Do I ask Him to show me what to cut out of my life, so I have time to do the most important things? (But there are no extras to cut out.) I just didn’t know.

But the Spirit did. He always does. He knew what my heart really needed. Romans 8 began to slowly pour over me and the tears trickled down.


“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

The Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.”

“And we know that in all things (even bowls of rotten lettuce) God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

“Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who then is the one who condemns? No one.”

And then the glorious part… What can separate us from His love? Bowls of rotting lettuce? Never. Dirty kitchen floors? Never. Failed attempts at producing a substantial income from home? Never. Imperfect parenting? Never. Half written novels? Never. In fact…

I am more than a conqueror in all these things through Him who loves me.

Did you catch that? I don’t have to be perfect to be loved. Who condemns me? No one.

In all my imperfectness, I am loved.

That last sentence should be repeated out loud in an awed whisper.

In all my imperfectness, I am loved.


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