Instead, I turned my annoyance to the print job that was coming out of my newly purchased, just installed, this-was-its-maiden-voyage printer and due to my impatience (see "tantrum" above), decided to give one sheet a little help and
And after that, my new printer wouldn't print any more.
I tried everything technical I knew to do. I unplugged it and plugged back it in. I turned it on, and turned it off. I smiled at it, complimented its sleek black look and winked, but every time I tried to print, I got the same whirring sound with no paper passing through.
Brand new printer, fresh out of the box, and now I was going to have to pack it up and, with my tail between my legs, head back to Walmart for a replacement. To make matters worse, that box it was fresh out of was already gone with last week's trash, along with my receipt.
Standing in front of the Walmart counter the next day, I prayed for a seamless transaction. I was looking for a little grace. Okay, a lot of grace. As I meekly handed over said printer, clad only in a thin canvas bag, I explained to the customer service rep that it wasn't working properly. And how I didn't have the original box and no, I didn't have the receipt either. And how I'd like to just get out of the store quietly with a new piece of equipment and forget any of this ever happened.
I heard her magic words. "Go get another printer."
My relief smiled from ear to ear.
Faster than a flight out of Philly, I made a beeline back to the electronics section, picked myself up another box full of print-o-magic, and returned to the service counter. She crunched some numbers, handed me a receipt which I vowed to keep, and sent me on my way.
Walmart extended undeserved favor to me, really. It wasn't their fault the printer didn't work anymore. I was the one that had screwed up. I was the one with the hasty attitude, yet they were willing to give me another chance to calm down and do it right the next time. On their dollar.
God does that for me every day. I yell, I scream, I want things my way and in my time. When I finally settle down and see my immaturity and realize I've been fighting His perfect plan, I open up my pounding, clenched fists and humbly ask for some grace. Some undeserved favor. For a do-over, promising to do it His way this time.
And He answers with grace, with a second chance. From that, I learn to love Him even more because He is a God who loves me and who lets me try again.
Even when I act 3 feet tall.