The grinding, scraping sound of metal against metal is what started the self-loathing. I knew instantly I’d messed up bad and words like stupid idiot were thrown at me by myself with reckless abandon.
What an exhausting day I’d had. Work, rush home, clean the house, make dinner, pay bills, exercise, wrap Christmas presents, and finally throw one load of laundry into the washer. I stepped into the chilly garage and crammed two pairs of jeans and a bunch of towels into the washer. When I tried to close the door (the washer is a side-loader), I realized I’d parked the car too close and would need to back it out and pull back in a few inches to the left.
I hesitated; I was already in my jammies. Oh well, what difference does it make? It’s not like I’m going anywhere; I won’t even leave the driveway. Still, something about driving the car, even a few feet in your nightclothes feels weird, and I was anxious to complete the task. I jumped in the car and hit the garage door opener. Careful not to smack the sides of the garage doorjamb, I began to back out. That’s when I heard the sickening sound, and the insults began to fly.
Jumping out of the car, I ran to the passenger side. Somehow, the washer’s door had caught on the side of the car, and I was staring at the door of my washing machine sagging on its hinges. You stupid, stupid idiot! Could you do anything more moronic? Such words, I would never use them on another person but freely used them against myself.
When I realized the car was unscathed, a fragment of gratitude gave me a slight reprieve from insults; but my washer, oh dear, my washer was rendered useless.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! I repeated. And right in the middle of my self-loathing, a Scripture verse stopped me.
Was this God’s way of telling me, Stop putting down My creation; don’t you know I made you?
Oddly, relief flooded over me. Self-incrimination was unnecessary. God still loved me! He didn’t and never will look at me and shout words like foolish dim-wit.
Tired as I was, I got a screwdriver and removed the door. A few days later, dad straightened the hinges for me, and I was able to reattach the door. The machine gives a funny little click when I open the door all the way now, and I have to press firmly to get it to shut completely, but my washer is once again functional. Best of all, I’m reminded that God loves me in spite of my humanness.