The Ice Cube & the Integrity Clause

This morning, I updated my Indeed resume page—not because I’m looking for anything, but because I like to stay prepared. You never know when someone might be searching for a woman just like me and offering a $750 million sign-on bonus.

I really struggled with my “About Me” section. I wanted to emphasize the things that matter to me—what I strive for—without it sounding like I was handing out gold stars to myself. Integrity matters to me—maybe because I’ve lived through enough lies and letdowns to know what it cost when it’s missing. It changes how you listen, and it changes how you speak. So I wrote about doing the hard thing. Carrying weight. Showing up.

I walked into the kitchen to refill my water glass. Somewhere between the scoop leaving the ice maker and pouring into my glass, an ice cube made a break for it and hit the floor.

I froze. (No pun intended.)

Scene of the crime.

(Possibly multiple counts.)

The “right thing” to do was obvious… but I kicked that joker onto the vent, let it melt, and called it problem solved. That kind of shortcut used to be a once-in-a-while thing. However, when the ice maker’s right above the vent—and your give-a-darn is running on empty—it starts happening more than you’d care to admit.

I don’t confess that easily. It makes me look lazy.

But the truth is: I’ve been waking up tired... for the last 182 days. Not the kind of tired that a nap or coffee can fix. Not just physically—but emotionally, mentally, spiritually tired. The kind that comes from doing too much for too long.

At first, I was just trying to get caught up… maybe even a little ahead, depending on the day. But somehow, that became the new standard. Then more got added. And that became the new standard, too. Until I realized I was living in survival mode—and calling it routine. Trying to live up to expectations I never meant to set, especially not for myself. And I realized: I can’t maintain this without burning out. Well, I passed burnout three exits ago. This is full-on dumpster fire now.

So while integrity is important to me, sometimes my decisions reflect the temperature in the room more than my convictions, sadly. And let’s be honest: that vent has probably seen worse.

I used to think integrity meant getting it right every time. Now I think it might mean just being honest when I don’t. Letting the Lord meet me in those moments when I slide—not with shame, but with grace and gentle correction.

The Bible isn’t up for negotiation. It says what it says. There’s a whole lotta “don’t do’s” in there, and it can feel overwhelming. But I’m convinced the real point is this: It’s impossible to keep all those rules. That’s why we need Jesus in the first place.

I don’t believe that when I break a commandment—or two, maybe even in the same afternoon—that God slams the gates and turns His back on me… any more than I believe if Jeff catches me kicking an ice cube onto the vent, he’s gonna pack my bags and put me out.

But I do believe every failure is a chance to pause. To reflect. To grow.

A wise Father—and a wise husband—offers consequences, yes… but also conversation, and correction that comes with compassion, not condemnation.

So maybe today you need to hear what I did: You’re not failing. You’re just carrying more than you were meant to.

Put it down. Pick up peace instead.

(And if there’s an ice cube melting in your vent today… you haven’t lost your integrity. Y ou’re just overdue for some rest.)

As for me, I don’t know yet what changing this looks like. But I’ll start with the ice cubes. That feels like enough for today, and I trust the rest will come.