Spilling a Goldfish Bowl

Today, before we leave for Washington DC, I’m going to pass along a story.

Joey, a third-grader, was sitting at his desk when suddenly he became aware of a puddle between his feet and wetness on the front of his pants. This had never happened before, but how would he ever live with the shame. “Dear God, this is an emergency. Please help,” he prayed. As he opened his eyes, he saw the teacher leave her desk and walk towards him. “Oh no, I’m dead meat!” Just then Susie came from the back of the room with a goldfish bowl full of water, and when she got to his desk, she tripped and spilled the entire contents of the bowl into his lap. “Thank you, Lord,” said Joey.

Now, instead of being the object of scorn and derision, he’s the object of sympathy. The teacher borrows some gym shorts for him to wear, and everyone tries to help clean up. Susie tries to help too, but the ridicule that should have been Joey’s is now transferred to her. “Get away, you klutz. You’ve done enough.”

As they were walking home at the end of the day, Joey whispered to Susie, “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Susie nodded. “I wet my pants once, too.”

I’d like to spend the rest of my life spilling goldfish water on people whose mere humanness has gotten them into embarrassing or distressing circumstances—people who in the past I might have been happy to criticize, but who now only remind me of my own humanness.

We’re very excited about seeing Lisa. I’m not sure how easy it will be to access the internet over the weekend. I’ll be back if possible.

Blessings,
Carol