[I can justify writing now because dinner is simmering on the stove.  However, don’t be deceived.  Simmering does much more justice than my dumping of the Voila! bag from the frozen aisle deserves.  I say simmering, but it’s more like waiting while magic happens.]

Chapter 9

Spills are my thing.

This morning I knocked my cup of water all over the table right after I made oatmeal in a bowl that I quickly learned had a crack.  I dropped baby Robert’s 1^st birthday cake in the line at Chuck E. Cheese.  Thankfully he was the age where it’s still cute to let the baby touch the cake, so no one ate it anyway.  I was humiliated around age ten when I dropped a plate at a buffet and then freshman year my tray went flying in Penland dining hall.  The only positive was a few boys were able to practice their chivalry.  Here’s why I tell you this:  Today I spilt my coffee in my yellow (but now browning) backpack.  Yes, again. Third time.  And the last time.

My coffee really just wanted a final kick because tomorrow my coffee will not longer be acquainted with my backpack.  My friend Kyle came up with a contraption that is a cup holder for my bike.  Details to come and a lack of disasters to follow.

The only time I justify a spill is when there simply isn’t enough room to hold everything in.  I think of a waterfall spilling over a cliff with power because the river cannot just simply stop at the edge.  This summer I climbed a waterfall in Costa Rica, and the water crashing down was like a giant spill covering me.  Or, maybe a justified spill is when a surprise has to burst out because of built up excitement.  Or, a spill can be the smile seeps out when you know it’s not appropriate to laugh.  Spills happen.

I want to spill over Jesus.  Overflow.  With intention, yes, but also with unguarded passion that spills forth without thought.  Like a waterfall that cannot be stopped.

May my lips overflow with praise, for you teach me your decrees. Psalm 119:171