Courage -- in Ink

On my flight to Atlanta last Saturday to visit the youngest, I pulled out my Sudoku book and realized . . . crap. I forgot a pencil.

A while back when a friend and I were doing a word puzzle together, he pulled out a pen to write with. For. The. LOVE. A pen?? Are you nuts? We can’t do puzzles with a pen! What if we make a mistake?? I tried to stifle my concern. Maybe he never makes mistakes . . . maybe he’s just that brilliant . . . or maybe he doesn’t write an answer down unless he’s absolutely certain about it. But no, he started inking things on that page all cocky and brave – answers that I knew we weren’t certain about yet, but now it’s written in permanent ink, help me Jesus. I struggled to control my racing heart. Because what if we make a mistake?? I don’t think we ever did, but still . . .

Now, I do realize that I’m talking about puzzles here. It really doesn't matter if I mess up. It’s not like I’m jumping out of a plane or getting married or risking my life savings on a sketchy investment. It’s a $5 puzzle book that will go in the recycle bin when I’m done, and I might even decide not to finish the thing at all. The stakes are blessedly low. I took a bigger risk eating the muffin I got at the airport Starbucks or walking through the terminal unmasked.

(For the record, once that thought came to mind, I pulled my mask out and put it on. But not until after I’d finished my muffin.)

But mistakes and I have a hard history. There was a time in my life when there were no small mistakes. At least that’s how I felt – because I was told as much. All the little mistakes you make . . . they drive me crazy . . . so, the little mistakes apparently equaled big mistakes, and I clearly had to stop making them or the consequences would be great. Don’t you pay that credit card payment late so you owe interest next month. Get that appointment on the calendar now so you don’t schedule something over it. Don’t let that leftover ham in the fridge go bad – a waste of money! You didn’t return that call yet? That's irresponsible and rude. And do you not know the speed limit here?? The parenting, the wife-ing, the friending, the church-ing, the teaching, the driving, the housekeeping, the feeding, the serving . . . I had to get it ALL right. No mistakes, woman. No mistakes. 

That’s an overwhelming burden to carry on a daily basis. I have worked very hard over the years to not unconsciously weigh my daughters down with such expectations. I suspect I inherited mine from some similarly burdened loved ones, and that crippling insanity needs to stop right here and right now, people. I fear I was not as successful as I'd hoped . . . but I did what I was capable of in my woundedness, and that’s all I can do. And my girls are young. There’s still time to heal their wounds, yes?

Because MY wounds have been healing, even in my middle-age. As God has been working in my life, I’ve felt those burdens lifting – I mean, I felt it palpably. A work colleague told me once, “Gwen, you are walking differently these days.” And I knew he was right, and I knew why.

So when I couldn’t find a pencil last Saturday, I shut off that berating voice in my head, picked up my pretty little purple PEN, and worked my stinkin’ Sudokus in ink, ladies and gentlemen. And immediately screwed one of them up completely. But you know what I did then? I put a big “X” through it and moved on to the next puzzle. Because it’s not my life . . . it’s a $5 puzzle book.

This is growth, friends. I’m going to celebrate with another muffin. (We’ll work on my carb addiction another day.)