“Do not remember the sins of my youth and my rebellious ways; according to your love remember me, for you, Lord, are good.”
— Psalm 25:7
A friend stopped me yesterday to tell me how much she loved the water balloon story in No Expiration Date. She was laughing about it. It made her day. After she left, I texted Laur. Her reaction was basically, “Great, that is the one that is going to be remembered.”
I promised her I would make it even. I told her I would tell mine. The story that will never die in my hometown. The phone call. The one where I said these words to her dad: “I am sorry I fed you dog food.”
Let me explain.
It was 7th grade. Laur was hosting a big dance in her basement. She invited me this time. She asked me to bring a dip. I had it all planned out. Picante sauce and chips. Simple. My friend Jill was over, and I went to get the chips and sauce. Problem — my dad, JR, had found the dip. It was almost gone.
So Jill and I start brainstorming how to get more dip. And that is when we saw it. The can of Alpo. Right next to the picante sauce.
Yes. We did what you are thinking.
We made a “bean dip” by combining Alpo and picante sauce. We stirred it up, headed over to the party, and put our dip in the refrigerator. Then we went downstairs like nothing happened.
Before the first Air Supply song could play, Jill and I looked at each other and realized this was a terrible idea. The angel on our shoulders had won. We needed to go get that dip and throw it out.
Problem — Laur’s dad had gotten into our dip. He was sitting at the bar eating it. He looked at us and said, “I don’t know what is in this dip, but it is so good.” He had almost finished it.
Jill and I made a pact. No one will ever know about the dog food. We will never talk about it.
But we had made a strategic mistake. We were already doomed and didn’t know it. The little brother. Well, in this case, the little brother’s friend — Brian Johnston. He was at the house when we were making the dip. He told his parents, and they told my parents.
The next morning, I got summoned to the kitchen table. I knew it was serious when they told me to get up and come for a chat. Mom and Dad talked about how disappointed they were. Then I dug myself an even bigger hole in my attempt to make it better. I told them we were going to throw it out, but Laur’s dad got into it.
That part of the story spread faster than a Patrick Mahomes pass.
That is how you become a legend in a small town with a story that still gets brought up at least once a year.
My punishment was a long grounding and making the apology call. The call. I remember pacing around the room trying to get my nerve up. I remember dialing the number and hanging up. Starting the call a few times and hanging up again. Then I remember making the call. I remember the graciousness of her dad. I remember him telling me he had likely eaten worse.
One of the lake kiddos has a story that won’t die. He is young and sweet. His parents had just gotten a used side-by-side. In fact, they were still in the try-out phase. Their son knows where they keep the keys. He grabbed his younger cousins and went for a joy ride. He hit a mailbox. One of the dad’s calls him Mailbox. It could have been much worse, and thank God for being with them on that joy ride. This will be one of his stories that won’t die. And as older folks, don’t we just love hearing the stories?
Kris has given a sermon or two telling us that as a mom she used to pray to God for these learning lessons. She wanted her boys to have a lesson where no one is hurt and when her boys did something wrong, it was to a gracious recipient. I get that. Laur’s dad was my gracious recipient.
We all have a story that won’t die. The one your family brings up at Thanksgiving. The one your friends text you about out of nowhere. The one that makes you groan and laugh at the same time. You can’t outrun it. You can’t outlive it. You just have to own it.
David wrote Psalm 25:7 — “Do not remember the sins of my youth.” David, the man after God’s own heart, had stories that wouldn’t die either. Far worse than dog food. But he didn’t ask God to erase the story. He asked God to remember him with love instead.
That is what grace looks like. God doesn’t pretend the story didn’t happen. He just doesn’t let it be the only thing He remembers about you.
Your hometown might never let you forget. Your family might bring it up every holiday. But God sees the whole book, not just that one chapter. And the people who love you? They bring up the story because it makes them laugh — not because it defines you. The story that won’t die is proof that you lived, you messed up, and you survived. That is not a stain. That is a testimony.
Here is what I have learned. The stories that won’t die go both ways. The water balloon story from No Expiration Date won’t die. My friend stopped me to talk about it. This dog food story won’t die either.
But 10 Minute Sermons? These words? These won’t die either. And those are the stories I want to keep writing.
Something about writing it makes you live it.
My Prayer
God, You know my stories. Every single one. The ones I am proud of and the ones that still make me cringe. Thank You for not letting my worst chapter be my whole book. Help me to stop hiding from the stories that won’t die and start owning them — because every one of them led me here. And help me write new ones worth telling. In Jesus’ name, I pray.
A Prayer for the Moms
God, give our kids the lessons they need — the ones where no one gets hurt and the recipient is gracious. Let them mess up just enough to learn, but not enough to break. And when that phone call comes, give us the patience to sit them at the kitchen table and the wisdom to know that this story — the one that won’t die — is exactly the one that will shape them. In Jesus’ name, I pray.
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