I’m entitled to a mini meltdown, to a valid round of venting. Forget about the work — gosh, what a mess — think about the money! Replacing a hot water tank costs a mini fortune. I would have been able to buy those new earrings I’ve been dreaming about with this money. I would have been able to replace our front door,  (currently held together with duct tape) with this money. I would have been able to treat myself to a new wig, to Invisalign, even a new vacuum cleaner, if I’m being practical.

Except I can’t, because the kind plumber who made himself available to do this (dirty) work for us on a Sunday expects to get paid.

It’s funny, how calm I remain. I always marvel at this twisted nature of mine — how agitated I become over minor nuisances, like a missed school bus, and how composed I remain in the face of bigger stuff.

I’m still calm when we hand over the money. (Less when I take in the mess. Told you, it’s the small stuff that make me sweat.)

It takes a little time for the water to boil. Meanwhile, all the faucets in the house sputter and fizz when we turn them on, then run brown, yucky water for a while. Eventually, the water runs smooth and clear, everyone is privileged to have a hot shower, and we’re left with nothing but dirty floors and the still-present dream of classy diamond studs.

“So this is where we get to say Thank You ,Hashem and Mizmor l’Sodah?” I ask my husband ruefully.

“We can simply say, ‘Gam zu l’tovah,’” he remarks.

I know. I know. I also know exactly how he’s going to respond to my next comment, but I say it anyway, probably because I want to hear it, shamelessly spelled out. “Imagine,” I tell him, all mature and whimsical, “what kind of great tzarah had been hanging over our heads, and we got a broken hot water tank instead.”

He answers predictably. “This is not instead of some great tzarah. Our hot water tank broke because Hashem wanted our hot water tank to break. We got exactly what He planned for us.”

Ha, didn’t I know?

It’s one of his radical ideas. A resistance to making Hashem’s cheshbonos. An insistence to accept what is bashert as just that — bashert — without groping around in the mysteries of Hashem’s administration to try to figure out His reasons.

Not a very flowery approach. But, hey, nothing about broken hot water tanks makes my heart sing.

I do thank Hashem when I take a delightfully hot shower that night. If not because He’s spared me from great suffering, then simply in recognition of the gift of hot water, which I don’t remember having expressed appreciation for previously.

And I thank Him again the next morning, after the last child boards the bus. Because it’s big, all this small stuff. It’s really, really big.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 969)