(In)discretion

Usually I avoid band wagons, but a weekly writing assignment isn’t bad, and like Heather, it gets my brain going . . . Weekly Anamnesis (a recollection of past events) #2:

(In)discretion: Something said or done that is tactless or unwise

My roommate was mad at me and I didn’t know why. She wouldn’t talk to me and walked out of the room if I entered. I finally cornered her and simply asked, “What did I do?” I was not prepared for the answer.

“Someone said that they had heard that you had said that anybody could have passed the math exam I failed.”

Ahhh, my indiscretion revealed to me, yet it had never happened. I try really hard to have tact, and though I may think a certain comment, I would never actually say it. I tease, but I am not cruel, and that would have been cruel. Besides the fact, I didn’t know she had taken a math test.

“Ummm, I would never say that. I didn’t even know you took a math test.”

“You should have, we are in the same major. (Elementary Education)”

I shook my head and bit my tongue wanting so badly to say, “What, should I ask every day when I see you, ‘So, fail any math tests today?’.” But I managed to hold the comment back.

When she realized this reason for her anger no longer worked she tried other tactics.

“What a bout the time we were at church choir and you wouldn’t let me direct the music.”

“Umm, (that um was vital for my thinking as I searched my memory banks trying to locate the accused occasion) the director asked me to conduct. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings; I was just doing what I had been asked to do.”

“What about . . .” she came up with a number of different scenarios, all of which had a reasonable explanation, until she finally, in a last desperate attempt, said, “Well, I guess you are too wrapped up in your self then.”

There it was. My final indiscretion after all others had failed. What did it mean? Was it one final stab to the heart or did it have basis? It haunted me, I had always tried to be kind and put others first, had I failed so miserably? I knew the conversation was over. Her face closed off and she got up to walk away.

“Whatever it was, I’m sorry, and hope you can forgive me some day.” My last feeble attempt to patch a broken bond. And then I moved on.

It hurt, because I tried so hard to let her know that I would never intentionally do anything to hurt her or anyone. We had been friends, good friends. I shall never know what really set her off. I shall never know what my real indiscretion was. Maybe it was trusting her and becoming her good friend in the first place. We parted our ways and she never spoke to me again. She is probably still fuming somewhere about her insensitive roommate just as I am sitting here wondering what unforgivable faux pas I was to have committed.

Christmas Time

I love the Christmas season. Our tree full of memories glowing softly in the front room with my husband’s village and train beneath it. The train chugging along softly past the glowing houses. The piano adorned with my village and the miniature people building snowmen, caroling, and ice skating. My Mother-in-law’s beautiful oil winter scene and my father’s water color winter roads hang on the wall for background. Our stockings hang from the fireplace mantel in expectation of things to come. A wreath created from tree cuttings hangs on the wall above the fireplace reminding us of the never ending love of Christ. An angel sits below it surrounded by whimsical snowmen. Lights weave in and out illuminating the wreath and scene below it. Displayed across our entertainment center is our nativity. The crèche houses Mary and Joseph watching over Baby Jesus as the shepherds and wisemen look on in wonder. Lights threaded through the figurines radiate its warmth and lift our eyes to the angel above heralding the coming of the Savior. The house smells of pine and cinnamon and baking.

The children seem to be infused of excitement and their peels of laughter bounce of the walls in a cacophony of sound. Our home is infused with memories and love. We gather in the evening to read our scriptures and Christmas stories by the tree. Stories of the true meaning of Christmas; of giving service and love. The children hang on every word and no one wants this magical time to end.

There is a special spirit at Christmas, or maybe the spirit is just stronger because we are celebrating the birth of His Son. Everything so warm and wrapped in love, it is just a little easier to be patient and kind, and we seem to say please and thank you even more. It’s not that much different from the rest of the year but there is simply an extra measure of love.