We all have that sense--satisfaction--when we have done a good thing. I always hope I can accumulate grace--that I might bank points, if you will--to counter all of the missteps that I make. Most of the time, I just pray that I can break even.
Yesterday morning, I took the dog for a run. Upon returning, I grabbed her water dish to rinse it out. As I looked down to turn the faucet on, I saw a wasp clinging to my running shirt. I screamed (I tend to conform to those girl stereotypes only when it comes to bugs) and shook my shirt to knock him to the ground. By the time I had my foot poised to squash him however, I realized that he had just been hitching a ride and hadn't taken the opportunity to panic and sting me. So I backed up, grabbed a cup and scooped him up. I opened the sliding glass door and shook him out onto the deck where he promptly flew away.
I felt satisfied. Proud. Benevolent. I washed my hands before grabbing the flyswatter to go kill the giant fly that had been pestering my daughter in the basement. My brain didn't catch up with the irony until after the fly had fallen to the ground.
Last night, I pondered whether one "save" might cancel out the other "thwack" as I fished a fruit fly out of my wine. At least that guy went numb first.