I was out to eat with my husband and two friends of ours. Everybody except me ordered hot fudge sundaes for dessert and the waitress brought them out. After a few moments I took a taste of my husband’s and was surprised to find that the fudge was cold. Instinctively I spoke up, “A cold hot fudge sundae? I can’t believe they gave you all cold hot fudge sundaes. I mean what’s good about a hot fudge sundae is the HOT fudge, right?” The sundae eaters frowned a little as if just realizing that their desserts were somehow flawed. I could tell they were considering my words, and I was feeling a little smart for noticing such a problem when one of the friends said, “That’s okay if it’s not hot. It’s good.” His words surprised me. They were genuine. And they were spoken without rebuke. Everyone went back to enjoying their desserts and I shut my mouth. What else could I do? Grace had poured on the scene. The gospel had come to dinner. Mercy was triumphing over judgment right before my eyes. The atmosphere at the table went back to being pleasant. The waitress was not summoned. And her tip would not be cut short. As I watched my husband and my friends finish their desserts I found myself wishing– wishing to be a person who eats cold hot fudge sundaes with the same grace. What is the gospel if it is not lived out in small things?