Our Best Efforts Cannot Fix Our Mistakes

Where can we go when the images of the truth about our failures shout out to us from the drywall? Sometimes all of our best efforts cannot fix our mistakes. For those moments, there’s grace. That’s what my grandfather gave me. He could have broken me with his anger, and shamed me with his fury. Instead, he chose grace. Not because I deserved it, but because he loved me and saw past my mistake. I had clearly overstepped, and damaged his home. Still, he was kind and merciful. At times in my adult life I have painted other big, loud, and sometimes obnoxious mistakes. Some have been eyesores that offend and assault, even when my intentions were good. At those times I have thought of my grandfather. How I wished there could have been more paint.

Sitting On Top Of The World

How I wished that I could have made it right because I loved him. And still, sometimes there was not enough paint. Sometimes we create scenarios in our lives that become huge messes. When we see the writing on the wall, we panic and scurry, trying to hide our foolishness. We think to ourselves, if I simply work harder, work smarter, behave more perfectly in this or that area of my life, I can at some point cover up my childish destruction. It keeps us awake at night, grasping at this paint can, and that. I believe we can always go to grace. Grace has no expiration date stamped on it, and no list of exclusions. It is pure, unconditional love. It is a gift that we can receive, and a gift that we can extend. That’s one of the most powerful messages we read. Forgive us this day our big graffiti disasters, as we forgive those that create graffiti against us.

Sometimes The Good Guys Finish First

There is beauty and wisdom in receiving and extending grace. Our spouses need it, our children need it, our coworkers need it, and certainly the slow driver in the fast lane needs it. Not to be confused with indifference or denial, grace is active, engaging and forgiving. It is neither a doormat to be walked upon, nor a ball and chain to shackled us. I began experimenting with alcohol and smoking. This battle would continue into my young adult life. Years later in 2000, I found myself seated on the carport of a twin home, a young mother of five, eager to take my first drink of the day. My inner noise overwhelmed me, my inner critic destroying every hope. Alcohol was my way of taking the edge off the stress and the pressure of being a young, inexperienced mom. What had begun as a glass of wine became a gin and tonic, and then another. For any outsider, I managed to smile and repeat the expected conversations, but inside I could not wait to feel numb again. That day on the step the house of cards fell.

Bite Your Lip

I didn’t want to be this kind of mom. But, I didn’t know how to quit drinking. Confessing to my husband, I told the truth about the depth of my addiction. Even he had no idea how often or how much I drank every day. Again in my life I felt grace extended. I had made a mess of many areas of our lives at that time due to being asleep at the wheel of my parenting. It was awful, embarrassing, and humbling, but step by step I went to counseling appointments, classes, and church meetings. But I kept clinging to the hope that someday I would not drink again. The healing came slowly and required me to look at ugly, painful memories and readdress decisions I had made early on about myself. It demanded that I face the internal noise and find peace. The days and months and years passed. Less drinking, then . I was learning to live without drinking at all. To be a mom who did not drink! I was seeing freedom from alcohol open new doors to me. The stronger I felt, the more I shared my story with other moms. They too felt encouraged to make positive changes in their lives. Then an internet radio show. Then the writing of a monthly magazine column. Later an article would lead to being published in an international Personal Excellence magazine. Each conversation with other recovering mamas gave me courage. I decided to enter the Mrs. To my surprise, I won. Utah opened even more doors to speak about addiction and recovery. It allowed me to speak in women’s detention facilities and government conferences. Years had passed without alcohol. I felt the demons had been slain and my life was finally steady. Little did I know that a phone call from my husband’s doctor would catapult our lives into a whole new trajectory. No more paint. The news became bleaker and bleaker. Chemo, radiation, surgery, more surgeries. Why now? I watched my husband grow weaker and weaker. And in between the square tiles of the sterile hospital waiting room, I could feel a presence so very similar to that of my grandfather standing next to me. My heart was breaking with the reality of what was happening. Still, I felt grace. The night my husband passed away I wondered Did we fail? Did I do everything I possibly could? Did we choose the right treatments, did we try the right diet, and did I say the right things? Our minds may always play these tricks on us about every success and failure. Something ends we may want to sum it all up and wrap it in a bow if we think it has brought us accolades. We may want to hide our life’s challenges and mountains and valleys if we feel they bring us tragedy or difficulty. Through the lens of love and grace it all comes into different focus. It blurs and then clears as we come to see new meaning and context. Sixteen years ago I sat on that very step.