For our Valentine dinner last night, I overcooked the potatoes. I hate when that happens: I work on an event or project, and carry off most of it pretty well—but there’s one thing I mess up. Like at work yesterday: during the Valentine exchange, I got a little too corny. Ouch, after a full month of not being a complete dweeb, I had to go and blow it.
At Wednesday’s Bible study, my wonky wisdom threw us off. At Tuesday coffee, I told a story that was over the top. Monday, I rudely left our special occasion to go color my hair. Sunday, I was flippant; Saturday, I was loud.
Arrggh! Is there any hope for me? How many poor saps are there to whittle through? Maybe I’d better just find a place to start all over; perhaps Pocatello.
Let’s face it: for every ten things I do right, I simply cannot help myself from the absolute zinger. I intermittently blow it! And then, in the next day’s early-morning quiet, I beat myself up: “Why did you say that?”
I know, I sound paranoid. But sadly, I must report: I don’t sell people short (try to hope all things), but the results of our failures are as varied as the receivers. Some have been very gracious–and (in spite of myself) I do have lifelong friends. But others have slowly slithered away. Yes, zingers can bring consequences. For some, all it takes is that one goofball day—and you’re out. It’s a thorn in my flesh that keeps me humble.
However, after this morning’s self-shellacking, I had another lovely thought:
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Some allow a failure to define me;
But others have persevered.
Some are concerned with appearances,
But others like that I’m weird!
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I blew it every day this week—
And I’ll probably blow it today.
I’m glad Jesus knows my weirdness best,
And remains my Friend anyway.
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So as I head out on today’s adventure,
I’ll say and do odd things, I know—
So, Lord, help me do better today:
I don’t think I’d like Pocatello.
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