Into the Fire

Few things equal the feeling of failure. It’s wretched. So icky is the feeling that the politically correct crowd have eliminated almost all playground activities for children so they don’t have to experience it in games. What they don’t understand is there can be a significant difference between losing and failing.

I failed my first driving test at the age of 16, not the writing part—the driving part. I didn’t turn my wheels in the proper direction on an incline—you could’ve fooled me, I thought we were on the flat. I got docked here and there. Enough to cause me to fail anyway. Devastating for a young independent girl. However, the horrible feeling of failure was quickly replaced with the determination to pass the test so I could drive that big sled of a ’63 Grand Prix by myself. And, pass I did the next time.

In high school I flunked the first test of my life, being a mostly A’s and B’s student. Most of you know I do not like history. Never have. I know: weird. So what? The reason I flunked the test was because there was some special event the night before and instead of studying I elected to go out to dinner with my parents and boyfriend. I was too tired to study when I got home and since retention of historical data did not compute for me, I blew it big time. My history teacher was gracious enough to let me and a few others who apparently weren’t high on history either take it over. The failure made me study and I got a good grade the second time around.

In my life failure has often been the catalyst for a deeper determination to succeed. However, failure feels terrible. Depending on the particular thing that is failed, we can get that proverbial kicked in the gut sensation. A horrible sinking in the stomach as if the organ can actually drop a few notches inside our bodies. Not good, at any rate. If the failure is huge enough, we have that defining moment where we realize we will not get another chance to succeed.

Few things feel as bad as failing.

For me, the worst sense of failure is when I fail to do something the Lord has asked of me. Knowing I have just said no to the One who suffered for me, who welcomed me into His arms of love as a sinful person and gladly redeemed me in my fallen state, is unbearable. How selfish. And inexcusable.

We cannot fathom the love of the Lord. When people fail us, we usually write them off, unless they happen to be our children or spouses. Depending on what they’ve done, we muster up the forgiveness, but we somehow learn to expect their inconsistencies and accept them under the heading of “humanity”. Their imperfection is in their blood, just as it is in ours. It’s called “sin”. And if our children are young enough, we demonstrate the closest we can come to our Father’s love by accepting their heartfelt apologies and move on or encourage and teach them to persevere until they can achieve a measure of success, making sure the lesson they’ve learned sticks—or so we hope. If they’re older or if the failure is committed by a spouse, sometimes the forgiveness or acceptance takes awhile. Their failures can be blaring and hurtful.

Failing comes in all forms and with it the condemnation of feelings—leading to all kinds of internal, and, I suppose, external ugliness. The real question is what will you do if you fail? Will that failure challenge you to attempt “it” again? If it’s as unremarkable as a high school test, chances are you can overcome it with a little extra mental mechanics. If it’s a marriage, the obstacle requires a lot more than just studying.

When you fail the Lord, will He ask you to do something again? If you ask Him to forgive you, not only will He do so, he’ll cleanse you from all unrighteousness in relation to that thing. What do you want from Him? Another chance to say yes? Or the comfy cozy pleasure of belonging to Him without having to DO anything? How deep are your desires? How much of this life is really lived for Him?

I can only testify that the Lord has been generous and gracious to me in spite of my failures. He has given me other opportunities to try, to obey, to succeed because of Him. Apart from Him, I can do nothing. Absolutely nothing. I need Him in order not to fail—Him or anything or anyone else.

But the feel of failure is at its most crucial worst when it is done in opposition to the Lord’s desire for me. Those are the failures I most want to eliminate.

And I need you, Lord, to succeed, to obey, to void failures when it comes to your instructions. Help me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Please remember to pray for Kristy Dykes.*