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The frosty night held only a hint of moonlight as I wound up the dark mountain road with my teenage sons, Tyler and Landon. We'd been visiting my mother who lived several hours away. As we crested the summit, I smelled something burning. I pulled over and Tyler jumped out to take a look.
"Uh, oh!" he groaned, peering under the car. "This doesn't look good."
I got out to kneel beside him and gasped. The undercarriage glowed fiery red! I hurriedly turned off the motor and headlights. Instantly, heavy darkness closed in around us. We were still an hour-and-a-half from home, and there were no towns within walking distance. My first thought was one of irritation toward my husband, Steve, who was off on a hunting trip. He's always hunting when things go wrong, I inwardly fumed. Outwardly I kept my voice light. "Well, boys," I said, "looks like God has an unexpected adventure for us. Shall we pray?"
Just as I said "amen," a car stopped to offer assistance. The driver happened to live in our town, and his sons knew mine. He kindly delivered us right to our house.
Grateful to be home, I wearily unlocked the door and flipped on the light switch. Nothing happened. I flipped it back and forth. Still nothing. Was there a power outage? I looked around the neighborhood and saw a few lights glowing.
A new chill seeped down my spine. Was someone in the house? Had he cut the power line? My heart hammered wildly as we took a few tentative steps into the living room. I felt around for the telephone, thinking to call the police.
"Hey Mom! There's a note on the door." Tyler brought it over and held it up to the lighted dial of the cordless phone. "Due to—," he struggled to read the words in the faint glow, "lack of—payment—your power—"
"Wha-a-a-t?!" I shrieked. "You mean to tell me your father didn't pay the electric bill?" Immediate fury replaced my exhaustion. How dare Steve go off hunting and leave me to contend with undependable cars and discontinued electricity!
I stood there sputtering incoherently. Tyler and Landon had never seen me in such a state. "Mom! It's OK," they soothed. "It's no big deal."
I'd never before spoken ill of their father in their presence, but suddenly I'd lost all self-control. "Scum don't pay their bills!" I hissed.
They stared in shocked silence. "Let's just go to bed and deal with this in the morning," I said through clenched teeth. Quietly we felt our way down the hallway, using the faint illumination from the telephone dial to light our way.
The next morning, I woke up still very angry. I knew my sense of betrayal was disproportionate to the circumstances. Steve wasn't responsible for the car's breakdown and he hadn't intentionally ignored the power bill. However, I magnified every tiny fault, every mistake he'd ever made, into gargantuan proportions to justify my anger.
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