Forgive Our Debts as We Mishandle Our Monthly Bills

The bill was addressed to Patricia Seebeck at 44 W. 6th Ave. We live at 36 W. 31st Avenue. The bill said we owed $90 for a king-size bed purchased more than a year ago. My wife, Patty, gave me the bill with a note that said: "Paul, I thought we paid this to avoid finance charges."

I hadn't seen a bill for the bed since I completed payments that July. Now four months later some "phantom" bill demands payment on a second charge of $59.45—plus four months of accrued interest.

I scanned for the 800 number on the bill, reached for the phone, and began to punch numbers. Some company was trying to rip off the little guy. With God's help, I would stand for justice. After 20 minutes in voice mail "hell," a human being came on, and by now my indignation was anything but righteous.

In a raised voice, to a gentleman I could barely hear or understand, I demanded to talk to a supervisor. The man graciously connected me to his female supervisor in India.

She was confused about the wrong address on the bill. Her computer records showed that my wife had listed that address when she signed for the credit card purchase. By now I demanded a full refund. On top of sending me an errant bill with extra charges, she was accusing me of lying!

After more frustration, a man in the States waived the interest charges. "The unknown charge might've been for the delivery of the king-size bed," he said. "We'll begin an investigation." I hung up the phone feeling smug—even victorious—when Patty walked into my office. "What was that all about?" she asked. I was describing the bad invoice and my behavior when she said, "Paul, the envelope had my work address. The bed store has been sending me monthly bills, but I threw the others away because I thought you'd paid it off."

Mortified, ashamed, I looked at the phone. I lifted the receiver to explain and apologize to the man I'd just spoken to. I said I'd send full payment for what we owed, but he refused. "I've already waived the interest charges. Just pay for the delivery of the bed."

Hanging up, there flashed an image of what I'd missed that afternoon. In my righteous indignation and undisciplined anger, I hadn’t learned the names of the man or woman in India I’d talked to so I could apologize.

Where is God in this? Gently reminding me that I would do better next time to model the examples of the men and women who showed great restraint, even refusing to accept the debt I owed. As I sat lamenting the reaction that blinded me to the goodness of God's humanity around me, an email arrived from the High Calling: would I want to write on the subject of anger?

God has a sense of humor.