Shrunken...

‘I put a wash on,’ he said helpfully. ‘I saw the pile there.’

My heart sank. That’s where ‘the pile’ always is, but usually it’s ignored. Last night, I dropped a favourite cardigan there, amongst the rest. A merino wool cardi which I planned to wash by hand.

‘Everything?’ I groaned. ‘Not the sweater…?’

He looked stricken.

It’s over now. The wash is over; the sweater has shrunk.

Why is it that when I drop or chip a mug, it’s one of the new ones and not one of the old pottery ones I’d quite like to drop? Or if the stem of a wine glass breaks in the dishwasher, it’s never one of the ancient ones the petrol station gave away decades ago?

The thing I’m reminding myself of this morning is the love with which the deed was done, not the mistake that was made. I can get another sweater; the love is priceless.

Don’t store up treasures on earth, where moth and rust and hot temperatures in washing machines can ruin them. Store them up in heaven.

Love is certainly a gift from God. I am so grateful for his love – both God’s, and my dear husband’s.