Please Leave the Room

"What's going on daddy?" This from my nearly 12 year old son.
"Your mother has just laid me bare." Karl is swallowing his pride as he speaks.
"Twice." I say with laughter in my voice.
Karl can't handle any more. "Please leave the room."

This is what happened as my wonderful husband put together a new set of bunk beds for our boys in their room. Karl had me searching for a very specific tool needed to put the beds together, an Allen Wrench. I suggested Karl look in the materials that came with the beds, because ususally when you buy something that has to be assembled, they include the necessary Allen Wrench. No, Karl had already checked.

I search for Karl's really cool set of Allen Wrenches, but can't find it. I finally find one lone Allen Wrench and take it to him, hoping it is the right size. We try it and it works. Hooray! Then Karl discovers that indeed there is an Allen Wrench in the supplies that came with the bed.

Later, the framing for the headboard isn't going well. It's curved and the slats in the headboard aren't working. Karl is really struggling and I suggest that there ought to be different sizes of the slats. Finally, I pull the pieces apart and let all the slats fall out and measure them. Sure enough, there are two different sizes he was using and there were actually three sizes that came with the kit. I tell Karl the red line on them is a mark. He says it's nothing. Eventually, he comes to realize I was right. All the slats with red lines are the same size. The ones with black lines are the largest and the ones with no markings at all are the smallest slats. I don't say "I told you so" in exact words, but I mention something like, "Aren't you glad I'm in here helping you?"

Next we put in some bolts. The frame is big enough that Karl can put in one bolt on one end while I put in a bolt on the other end. He uses his own Allen Wrench, I'm left with the one that came with the bed. While I'm turning the wrench, slowly, Karl scoffs and says that's why he's using his own, because it works better. So, I change and use the Allen Wrench the way it is supposed to be used, like a crank since it has a crank handle on the end. I throw my husband a smirking look as I utilize the crank feature and zip my bolt in while he's still staring in disbelief. It is at this point that I'm laughing and Karl is saying he's going to get his cordless drill to do the rest anyway.

Next comes the interchange where Karl asks me to leave the room. His pride has been wounded, severely. I'm still laughing (though not too hard because I know how difficult this is for him) and I try to assure him that I love him. He says he believes me, but right now he just can't handle it. He asks for time to let his wounded pride heal and I respect his space.

Later I ask if I can come in and help with the beds some more and he says of course. There are other pitfalls and moments of near insanity, but we finally get the beds in place. The boys love them and everyone, even little four year old Greta got to help in some way.

As I sit back and think of yesterday's adventures, it makes me wonder if we do to God what Karl did to me. When our pride is wounded, when our souls are laid bare and we see ourselves for who we really are, dirty rotten scoundrels, do we ask God to leave the room?

Unlike me, God doesn't laugh at us when we come to the end of ourselves. Yet, if we ask Him to leave the room, He honors our request, because God is a gentleman. Pride is a dangerous thing and when it is wounded, we tend to push away the people that can help us the most. When we've been laid bare, that's when we need God the most, because only He can change us into the kind of people who reflect His love and mercy.

I pray I will never again laugh at my husband (let's hope we never get another set of bunk beds) when he's having shortcomings. I also pray that I never ask God to leave the room, just because my pride has been wounded.