Mistakes

        I mostly remember two things from my high school biology class several decades ago. One was that I was deeply in love with Arlene, a fellow sophomore who was also in the class. Alas, my love was unrequited: She broke my 15-year-old heart by asking one of my best friends to the Sadie Hawkins dance.

​The second thing is the project we did late in the school year called the Vertebrate Study. We had to write a fairly lengthy report on backboned creatures and on the day we turned it in, we were handed a test to gauge what we’d learned from our extensive, pre-internet research. I can’t tell you how many questions there were on that test because I only remember one: Birds are able to fly more easily because their bones are (blank). This was not a fact I’d turned up in my research and I had no idea how to fill in that blank, so I put some spectacularly incorrect answer. 

I will know until my dying day, however, that the bones of birds are hollow. 

​We really do learn from our mistakes. (Well, most of us do. I’m not sure Arlene did.) Our miscues have a way of lodgingfirmly in our memory.Maybe that’s why God seems to revel in using our frequently misguided efforts for good, to teach us some of life’s most important lessons. It’s so in character for him to take something we’ve done wrong and use it to make us wiser and more faithful than we were before. 

​It’s all grace.

​I’ve made, at last count, approximately a zillion mistakes way more serious than the hollow bones thing, and I have a tendency, at times, to think God must be pretty disgusted with me for all that. Lucky for me, and for all of us, he’s never thought the way I do. Maybe it’s that whole “my ways are higher than your ways” thing. His ways are certainly kinder and more patient than mine.

I can cite, for instance, some amazingly inappropriate things that have come out of my mouth at times when I’ve spoken before thinking about it. Some of these episodes are probably where the expression “cringe-worthy” originated. When I’ve consulted with my Maker about episodes like those afterward, I like to think he’s revealed to me not just the errors of my ways but how I might use a more thoughtful, considerate way to communicate in the future. I’ve rushed through events, conversations, tasks, days—all kinds of things, blundering past opportunities that might have been special moments or chances to do my best work. As I’ve thought about those times, I’d like to think that God’s shown me a slower, more present and deliberate approach to the days he’s given me now. I’ve made snap judgments about people and situations many, many times, only to discover repeatedly that this person is totally different than I thought or that something very different than I believed to be happening was really happening. Looking back, I’d like to think that God has used those moments to speak to me about a slower, more present and grounded way to go about my life.

​Spiritual writer Henri Nouwen suggests that we look at our lives with gratitude—the entirety of them. “True gratitude embraces all of life,” he says. “The good and the bad, the joyful and the painful, the holy and the not-so-holy. We do this because we become aware of God’s life, God’s presence in the middle of all that happens.”

​Later, he adds, “Everything that happens is part of our way to the house of the Father.”

​That’s a very redemptive perspective, something else so characteristic of our God. So, despite my life’s wrong turns, I’m working on being grateful for what God has shown me as I live them, and relying on his forgiveness for when my mistakes have caused others pain.

​I think of that sometimes when I see birds soaring by, no longer earthbound thanks to their strong, light, and hollow bones.

       

        Tom Allen

P.S. When I asked Tom to send me a photo of himself that I could put with his column the first one he sent was this…