Failure is Not Fatal

I was tempted and I failed. 

At my daughter’s diving meet I saved “bleacher seats” before leaving the pool. After the long intermission, my husband and I returned, and our sweaters, occupying our saved space, lay squished between two spectators.

  

I entertained two thoughts. 1. Those seats were saved!  2. That’s ok, we’ll find other seats. Unfortunately, I dwelled on number one.  Irritation boiled and provoked my pride. Pride magnified this slight injustice into a colossal violation.

I’ll just squeeeeze in there. Afterall, we were here first. Without excusing myself, I forced a place between two large women.

The lady on my left frowned. “If you want to sit here, why don’t you just ask?”

  
Half-smiling, I motioned, “I had these seats saved, you know.”

    
She threw me a dirty look and a built an invisible wedge between us.  

    
“I’m sorry for cramping you,” I mumbled and scurried to a nearby wall to stand with other parents.

  
 I didn’t really feel sorry at that moment; it just seemed like the appropriate thing to say. But shortly after, I began to feel lousy. I had failed. I knew my thoughts, words and deed missed the mark of Christ-likeness. I had disobeyed the Holy Spirit’s gentle nudge to overlook the situation and move on.

A Prayer to Unleash God's Love

 The odor of fresh paint drew me back to when my dad built homes. As a child, I roamed those framed structures, pleased to smell woodsy lumber and hear hammers pounding. Best of all, I recall Dad’s voice, echoing, giving orders.

Dad quit speaking to me when a misunderstanding occurred. Irrationality won. Dad declared, “I’m no longer your father.”  It age 19, I was stripped of love just as suddenly and unexpectedly as fire strips land bare.

Dad’s decision, stated irrevocably, caused deep pain and loneliness. I held onto my hurt, hoping in some way, to protect me from more pain.