Yesterday was an emotional stretcher for me. I can’t say I did amazingly under the weight of my emotions, but I can say despite some tears, I learned to practice mercy a little better.

Because my brother is still suffering from his concussion, things are kind of planned last minute to see how he’s doing. It wasn’t until 8pm or so Saturday that he and my SIL confirmed they would be coming over on Sunday to celebrate our Mom’s birthday and have lunch. My dad and I mutually agreed that if we were dining at home, Mom wasn’t allowed to make her own meal. So, I offered to make everything. Because it was so last minute, I elected to stay home from church and watch the live stream online while I got everything prepared. Yes, admittedly, it was a little overwhelming. I was making food for 5, picking up a cake and ice cream, and tidying up all by myself in a few hours.

I purposefully didn’t rush too much while I was listening to the live stream. Just because I was working on some cooking didn’t mean I wasn’t wholeheartedly listening. As soon as it finished though, it was a race for the clock. I had most things ready and tidied and went to get ready. In that time my parents got home and from another room I heard my dad going “What’s this? Where do I put that?” I think, “Oh no, they’re moving stuff around.” When my dad moves things, you most likely will take forever finding it. He doesn’t ask and doesn’t tell where things are going. So I rushed out and asked him what he was talking about and to let me handle it.

My mom caught some stress in the tone of my voice and responded rashly. She muttered something along the lines of not bothering to do anything for her again and walked off to her room. She keeps on muttering and I tell her I just wanted to handle things and not have my dad mess with it. She ends up telling me something terrible:

“You should have kept your priorities straight and gone to church today. Your heart is in the wrong place and I don’t want you to do anything for me again.”

I tell her I’m sorry if I came off scattered but I am handling everything and she mutters more stuff. I finish getting ready to head to the store and start crying because it really hurt me, especially since my intentions were good and now it didn’t matter. Still, I opened the door and drove to the grocery store.

I walked through Vons swatting tears as they rolled down and slowly picked up a birthday cake and ice cream. I thought about how upset with her I wanted to be, how wounded her words made me, and here I am picking up a cake and ice cream.

I took as much time as I could so my brother and his family would be home at roughly the same time. My mom of course changed her tune as soon as she saw my nephew.

I put the cake and ice cream away, snuck off and composed myself for five minutes, and then carried on with the celebration even though my heart was burdened and heavy.

She never said sorry. I never brought it back up. It still hurt. But I knew mercy was the right choice.

The irony? My pastor’s message that morning was about how during the holidays people may hurt you or be hard to deal with and living out peace.