Our kitchen sink has a built-in soap dispenser. While I’m sure you could fill it with hand soap, we use dish soap. That way we have easy access for all the things we handwash, like sharp knives, pots, pans, and our favorite mugs. 

The dispenser works great, except when it comes time to refill it, which I did today. I often ask Erik to do this little task — having studied biology and chemistry in college, he knows how to pour slowly, with steady hands. But he was busy and I figured if I was careful, I’d be fine. 

Within seconds of starting to squeeze the soap out of the bottle and into the dispenser I decided it was taking too long. So, to speed things along I unscrewed the flip-top cap and set it aside. Now we were talking! Soap steadily streamed from the bottle into the neck of the dispenser. Not one drip escaped. Feeling smug, I tipped the bottle a little more, ignoring the fact that because the sink was solid chrome, I couldn’t see how full the reservoir was getting. 

Convincing myself that there would be some sort of miraculous sign from heaven when it was time for me to stop pouring, I gently squeezed the side of the bottle and kept watching. 

But there was no sign. 
Not even a tiny bubble telling me the dispenser was almost full.
Then it was too late. 

The blue soap started oozing over the neck of the dispenser and within seconds had puddled on the top of the sink and started running down the sides. 

Dang it. And here I thought I was doing such a great job. Oh well, it’s just dish soap. It should be easy to clean up, right? 

Do you see where this is going? 

Water + liquid soap = suds. And because we buy the concentrated soap, a little goes a long way. Within a few seconds of turning on the faucet, my soap volcano erupted into a mass of suds. The more I rinsed, the more it grew. 

Looking down at the mountain of tiny bubbles, I was transported back to middle school on a night when it was my turn to do the dishes. I was alone in the kitchen. My parents had gone out for a few hours. My older sister was probably watching TV or hiding in her room. 

As I slid the last plate the dishwasher, I thought of a commercial I’d seen recently. It was for a brand-new (at the time) product: gel dishwasher detergent. The commercial made this new innovation seem cleaner and simpler to use than the powdered stuff in the green box my family always bought. So, thinking I was being clever, I reached under the kitchen sink, grabbed the liquid dish soap, filled the triangle dispenser, closed the door, hit start, and left the kitchen. 

About five minutes later I wanted something to drink, so went back in and found a river of tiny bubbles pouring out of the dishwasher. I hollered for my sister, who came in and said something equivalent to, “You’re gonna be in big trouble.” 
I grabbed the nearest dish towel and started to frantically wipe at the explosion of bubbles escaping through the sides of the dishwasher door. It was no use. A waterfall of suds kept pouring out. 

My pulse pounded in my ears. 
What had I done? 
Could I get it cleaned up in time?

Nope. Mid-clean up, my parents came back home. 

“I’m so sorry,” I said and explained that I thought I could use liquid soap in the dishwasher because of the commercials.
My mom grabbed some rags and larger towels, got onto her knees, and started mopping up the mess. She was silent as she cleaned. My heart pounded as I braced for my punishment.

Then my mom spoke. 

“This is a lesson everyone has to learn once. Now you know and you won’t make the same mistake again.” 

Today, as I looked at the mound of suds in my sink, I smiled remembering the sweet relief I felt in that moment. Even though it was totally my fault, even though I had deviated from what I’d been taught, and even though I had made a huge mess, my mom didn’t scold me, yell at me, or punish me.

Instead, she got on her knees and cleaned up my mess. 

I haven’t thought about that day for years. But today, the suds lining the bottom of my sink led me right back to that moment. I think this is the first time I’m seeing my mom’s response for what it really was. 

A lesson in the grace of God.

When we’ve made a mistake, He doesn’t yell at us and storm away. 
He doesn’t dole out a list of punishments — even if we deserve them. 
He doesn’t abandon us to our consequences. 

Instead, He gets on His knees and cleans up our mess. 

That is grace. 
That is love. 
That is Jesus.