It was late November when my washing machine broke down. At least, I assume it’s broken; nothing happens when I hit buttons on the machine: no whirring, no movement, no water coming in or out, nothing. I tried to fix the thing myself, but nothing I did worked. I even called a local repair shop and spoke to a man who sounded like he was experiencing depression. I don’t know, but it sounded like his business was not doing well. His tone was flat, and he had long pauses of silence that made me uncomfortable, and I’m a therapist.
I asked him what I thought the problem was and if he would look at it.
“That’s what I would do.”
Dead silence. I didn’t know what to say. I’ve never pleaded with a repairer to do his job before. This was new territory for me. Doesn’t he get paid for the job? Wouldn’t he want to show up at my house, even under pretenses? Wasn’t he trying to make money? Was I missing something? So, I asked again, “So, can you come out and look?”
“Sounds like you got it,” which was his way of saying no. In my mind’s eye, I imagine him sitting all alone in a dank, smoke-filled room with a pile of unpaid bills next to a few bottles of Jack Daniels.
I was on my own. I went to the website “Repair Clinic” and bought what I believed was the right part to fix my lifeless machine. I spent $115, and it didn’t work.
Then I went to a big box store that treated my transaction so poorly that I’m afraid to mention the store name for fear of being sued. My plan was to get the in-store credit card and receive $50.00 off the asking price. On December 7, I purchased a new washer but overlooked the handwritten note to tell me to call this number within three days. I didn’t. I’m not sure men whose wives are still alive would do much better.
When the big box store didn’t drop off my new machine from their big box truck, I found it was my fault that I didn’t call that number. I’m not sure why I needed to call them after buying the thing, but apparently, this was store policy—a policy that I think needs to be rewritten.
I rescheduled the drop off on January 15, MLK day. I’ve been washing my clothes at my sister’s for the last few months, and her patience seemed to grow thin. I wanted the washer I purchased, which I didn’t think I needed to wait so long. I didn’t want to take the time off work (because their drop-off time frame was “either morning or afternoon,” which didn’t seem very precise). Then I got a call on the 15th and was told that due to bad weather, they would need to drop off on the 16th, so I had to take a day off. Accepting God’s leading (I didn’t have a choice), I just took the day off to finally get my washer.
The truck didn’t show up until 7:00 pm, which was a bummer because I could have worked that day instead of waiting around the house doing nothing. I’m trying to save my time off work to see my brother in Atlanta in February.
My son came over and helped me bring down the shiny white machine to its resting place alongside my dryer in my house’s nether regions. After an hour of fiddling with hoses and leveling the beast, I found that it didn’t start either. Now, I was frustrated. Quite. But by then, I couldn’t call the story to get instructions, so I decided to fix it myself. I looked up videos online and found that the lid latch is usually the problem. In anger and nearly unresolved bitterness, I returned to the Repair-Clinic website and purchased this part. I figured I’d make the store pay for it.
But that didn’t work either. So, I called the store, which referred me to the GE repair people. They weren’t able to come out until the following week.
But when he came, he couldn’t fix it because it needed the original latch thing, which I had mistakenly traded with the local store in my attempt to make the thing work. He ordered the correct part and rescheduled it for next week.
I think God was trying to teach me patience.
The next day, I got my righteous indignation riled up inside me (I’m not good with anger; I’m more of an accepting kind of guy) and complained to the store about my problem, hoping to get a new one. However, I was told that it was too late to get another washer. So now I’m hoping that the appliance I purchased on December 7 will be in working order by sometime in February, but at this point, I don’t have any confidence it will.
I was disappointed, standing in the big box store alone, told it was too late to rectify my non-working washing. I had to wait until sometime in February to get my new but useless machine to work. That’s when I fell into the black hole. Everything was dark, and I had a heavy pressure on my chest. I rushed out of the store; fearful I would break down bawling in front of the nice people trying to point me in the direction I needed to go.
I felt beaten. Defeated. I had nothing to show for my $500 purchase but a brand-new chunk of metal in my basement, which, oddly enough, did match my dryer.
Little things are made into big things during grief. I don’t know if I’m the only one with black holes of hopelessness, but I did. I’ve fallen into it several times over the last few months. My emotions ran around like a marble jar being dumped on the floor.
I was disappointed, but much more disappointed than the situation deserved. My body hurt and ached like I had the flu. I went home and took a nap, seeking relief. The cruelty of the useless box store had nothing to do with Deb’s death, but inside my heart, it did. It was another defeat, another separation, another example of hopelessness and powerlessness. I knew I was overreacting; I couldn’t slow it down.
It’s important to know that I don’t cry quickly. I don’t softly let tears out when discussing good times, Deb. I wish I could do that. Instead, I build up pressure until I blow up, bawling out of control for a half hour. And when I do, I make this embarrassing noise that I can’t explain. It sounds like I’m laughing, but I’m not laughing.
When I’m finished heaving, I feel like the life force has been sucked from my body, like I just ran three miles. I’m wiped. I barely have the energy to get to the bathroom and back.
I planned on going to a Bible study that night, but I didn’t have the energy after the tearful explosion. I was useless, just like my washing machine.
Encouragement
In the middle of my black hole experience, my buddy Matt called. He’s one of the most encouraging men I’ve ever met. I don’t think his call was accidental. I believe God used Matt to encourage me when I was down. It was not a coincidence; it was a God thing. He shared how he almost died a few months earlier. He was riding his bike when he was hit by a dump truck. The truck pinched him under its huge right tire. It took him a moment to realize that he was unable to inhale. Immediately, thinking he was going to die, he broke into the Lord’s Prayer; “Our Father…” Just then, a stranger jumped out of her car and asked Matt if he was OK. That wasn’t odd, but what she did was. Without asking for permission or getting any words from Matt, she lifted his right arm, just a few inches. That seems to me like an odd thing to do to a guy stuck under a truck. It would never have occurred to me to do that.
Once she did, he could breathe again. This stranger literally saved Matt’s life. And he gives God all the credit for this act. We both thanked God together for this random act of kindness.
It was a few moments before I realized what was happening. Matt’s “random” call may not have been so random. I believe God used him to call me at my low point when I had no answers, and he offered me hope. I’m not sure if Matt’s call was a Marcel, but it felt like it was. I do know he relieved my disappointment.
I still don’t have a working washing machine, but I’m not so disappointed now.
I think God’s trying to teach me how to wait. I’m tired of learning this lesson, but something tells me I’m not done learning it. I want these lessons over so I can get on with my life, but that doesn’t seem to be God’s plan.
In this incident, I’ve learned three essential things: 1) God is good, even when things are bad; 2) God uses strangers to bring us life; and 3) I’ll never buy an appliance from a big box store again.