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It
was Sunday evening. My family
straightened up the house, transforming it from its weekend chaos to
its weekday cleanliness (or some semblance thereof). As I sailed past
the living room, my hands full of wayward dishes and newspapers, I
noticed the afghan was folded across the back of the couch—which was a
nice surprise. Yet there was something displeasing about the effect.
Then I realized the afghan was wrong side out.
“Who folded this?” I asked.
“I did,” said thirteen-year-old
Laurel.
“It’s wrong side out.”
“I didn’t know there was
a right and wrong side.”
I pointed out the subtle
difference in the fabric weave. “There’s a right and a wrong side to
everything.”
I sounded almost . . . eloquent.
Who knew?
Laurel went back to her chores,
I refolded the afghan, and that was that.
Or so I thought.
Later, Laurel showed me her
history homework. I brought to her attention some spelling and fact
errors. She didn’t like the idea of doing it over, but I reminded her
that just good enough is never good enough . . .
There’s a right and a
wrong side to everything.
The next morning,
seventeen-year-old Carson pulled out of the driveway to take Laurel and
himself to school. I noticed he made Laurel sit in the backseat.
Obviously, he was embarrassed by her little sister status. After school
I brought to his attention how a good deed can become tarnished by
rudeness . . .
There’s a right and a
wrong side to everything.
Emily—who at twenty lived on her
own—called to complain that her boss didn’t give her enough to do. Yet
in the next breath, she mentioned she hadn’t finished a particularly
tedious task she’d been assigned. I pointed out that one task undone
might affect the task yet to come . . .
There’s a right and a
wrong side to everything.
Being
so wise was exhausting,
and I still had some work of my own to do. And . . . my daily Bible
reading, which I’d managed to put off all day.
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I
opened the Good Book and
began, but . . . my mind wandered.
I had only so much brainpower
left, and I still had writing to do. Surely God would understand if I
skipped the Bible reading and got my work done. Surely it would be all
right to skip it just this once.
While I argued with myself, I
happened to read Genesis 4:7: If you do what is right, will
you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is
crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it
(NIV).
Well then.
As He is so adept at doing, God
brought to my attention that doing the right thing was always the right
thing to do—and my relationship with Him was more
important than my work for Him . . .
There’s a right and a
wrong side to everything.
The afghan’s lesson was
following us around, stalking us. Our chores, school, work, and even
God were affected by our choosing the right or the wrong side of life
to put on display. Some choices were easy. But some distinctions
between right and wrong were subtle and needed to be brought to our
attention by the One who wanted us to be the best we could be.
Appeasing that afghan continues
to be a constant struggle. It’s tough learning to live our lives with
the right side out. But the results can be very pleasing.
To us, to each other, and to
God.
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