Estimated reading time: 3 minute(s)

My brother-in-law was reading a book one time, and asked a circle of us to tell him what our greatest fear was. So, we all told him, and one by one he proclaimed with certainty what our fear was. “You have a fear of abandonment.” “You have a fear of the unknown.” “You have a fear of spiders.” (OK, I added that one.) When he heard my answer to his question he said, “You have a fear of failure.” Matter-of-factly, there you have it, that’s all she wrote.

I scoffed at the notion of me being afraid of failure. And, I am still not certain that it is completely accurate, but there may be some degree of accuracy to it.

This week it has been abundantly clear that I am good at being a failure. And, when that is pointed out to me, I hate it. A lot. I don’t want to really talk to the people I have failed. I don’t like thinking about it. But, for some reason, I tend to dwell on it. Trying to figure out how to make amends and reparations for my failure.

But sometimes, I can’t. And I really, really don’t like that.

This week I have seen how I have failed my kids in so many ways as their Dad. This week I have seen how I have failed my family as a provider. We are in a serious financial pinch at the moment. And yesterday I was made aware of an error that I committed that will end up costing us hundreds, maybe thousands of dollars. Just because of an oversight. Today, to top everything off, I was making one of our favorite meals – that feeds us for at least a week – and in an easy-to-understand error, instead of adding cornstarch to the yummy-smelling chili, I added baking soda. And though not completely ruined, an enormous amount of Cincinnati-style chili stands as a testament to my repeated failures this week.

So where do I go from here? Last night, a friend reminded me to not beat myself up over failures. To be sure to learn from mistakes, but not dwell on them. I think in my perfectionism, that is super hard to do. I wrote a little while back about how I realized that I am actually trying to be God – to be like him in his perfection – though I intellectually comprehend the absurdity of such an attempt. Somehow along the way, I convinced myself it was possible and I still try to achieve his perfection.

I can’t. This week is proof. Painfully obvious proof. And yes, it hurts. I am saddened by my propensity for failure. I know that I also am able to accomplish things, but somehow this week has been far too good at reminding me of how I am not able to accomplish things.

I want to know Jesus and him crucified. The simplicity of his love for me. The depth of that love. The life-giving power. None of the stuff that bothers me today will last. My failures do not affect eternity. It’s no fun to fail, and perhaps it is a weakness of mine to be more susceptible to being effected by my failures, but fail we will. And we’ll do it again. I will fail again.

I do not fear failure, as I know I can learn from it. But today I am realizing that God is working on me in that way somehow. I am still a misshapen lump of clay, awaiting the results of the Potter’s painstaking, attentive forming of my life.

I know he will not fail.