Pet Sins

I have a pet sin. You know you have one, too. Admit it. It's the little sin you keep on a leash and take with you everywhere. The one that keeps nipping at your heels when you try to live a clean, sanctified life. The one you are supposed to drown everyday with daily contrition and repentance, but instead you choose to bathe it, brush it, put a bow on it, and carry it with you everywhere, like a little chihuaha. Actually, I have a whole herd of pet sins. If you can only admit one, I'll sit next to you anyway.

In fact, I have many pet sins. I'll be the first to admit it, and yet I feel so righteous about them. The Rev. did me wrong and I'll show him. I can hold a grudge like a little kid holding his breath until he gets his way. My tongue is often more sailor than sanitary and I often feel the spirit of Sammy Hagar when it comes to driving the speed limit. I often catch myself in the midst of these pet sin love fests, when my fingers are all sticky with anger and jealousy and impatience, and then I have to slap myself back to humility. Humility and I have a contentious relationship, and we are often on opposite ends of the street. The Rev. is so good at patience and humility, and I get so mad that he is so good sometimes. Do you see my vicious circle?

This week was a test of my patience. I would say I got a B+ on my flat tire test. Yesterday I got an F-. Not only did I have to get fitted for a crown (not the kind that you wear on your head), The Rev. did not read my mind and do what I would have done when it comes to dealing with our pets. I raised my voice, and he remained calm, which made me more angry. I'M ANGRY--YOU GET ANGRY TOO. WHY WON'T YOU STOOP TO MY LEVEL (the gutter) AND GET ANGRY? Let's say I had a lapse where I forgot that I am blessed to be vertical and above ground.

Today is a new day and I have reminded myself of my baptism and my pulse. The sun is shining and we are going to wine country. I promise I won't go drowning Adam, myself, or anyone else in a vat of merlot.