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June Yates-Boykin

To my surprise and excitement, some church teenagers let me accompany them one night to an old, spooky site where kids would go for a scary thrill.  It was more than fifty years ago, but is as clear to me today as it was then. I was about six or seven years old. 

Years before, a landowner had been buried in the middle of his orange grove.  A tiny patch of land had been cleared; and a short, wire fence erected around the grave.  Orange groves are scary places at night.  The moonlight and breeze transform the trees into homes where ghosts and goblins move about and crazed maniacs hide to await their next victim.  At least to a young child that’s how they are.  Add a solitary grave to that scene and you’ve got the making for a week of nightmares. 

Kids would load up and visit the grave site, and there frighten each other with urban legends and ghost stories.  I was excited to be brought along that night, allowed by my parents only because my older brother was in the group.

The starless night pitch black around us, the four teens and I sat in the car scaring each other for entertainment.  We were surrounded by row after row of orange trees where any evil creature or mass murderer could be lurking.  The only escape route was the tiny dirt path from the main road to the grave made possible by the removal of one row of trees.  Though we had backed in so the car would be facing the road in case we needed a quick getaway, anyone could pull in and block our exit. 

After several stories and frightening possibilities, everyone fell silent.  We searched the darkness in every direction to make sure we were still alone.  Someone at last broke the eerie silence and asked, “So, what would we do if all of a sudden we see him out of that grave and walking toward us?”

“I would run!”  I declared.

“What good would that do?” my brother teased, “You run like diarrhea.”  

To which I asked, “Who’s that?”

At times this perfectly good brain God gave me shrinks to the size of a pea and air claims the empty space left behind.  I would love to say that ended as I grew up, but I was an adult when my loving nephew, Paul, did such a thoughtful thing for me that, too, is not forgotten.

He wished to transform my nuisance of being left-handed into a mark of distinction and make me feel special. To accomplish that, he gifted me a left-hander’s coffee mug.  A hole was positioned near the top in one side of the mug.  If held with the right hand, as the not so special right-handed person lifted the hot brew to their mouth, it would pour through the hole onto their chest.

What a wonderful gift.  Surely God had vindicated me!  The right-handed world in which I live would now have to stand up and take notice.  We left-handers would not be outdone.  I was so proud.  I couldn’t wait till the next morning to get up and enjoy being queen. I envisioned sipping my morning coffee from a cup that I alone in my household could appreciate or ever dare use.

Finally, the morning arrived.  I hurriedly poured coffee into my prized mug and proceeded to my desk.   It was then that the cherished hole in the mug reminded me of an ugly fact: I write with my left hand.  I hold my coffee with my right.

Such moments didn’t end there.  I later became a grandmother – a mature, responsible grandmother always prepared to share my years of acquired wisdom and knowledge with my two grandsons.

Christmastime was upon us which meant school was out and I would have more time with my then very young grandsons, Jacob and Brayden.  They decided to both sit in the back seat so they could talk as we drove to our local Chick-fil-A for lunch. 

I also used the time to talk.  This was the perfect opportunity to make sure they understood the true meaning behind our celebration.  I was glad to learn they did know why we celebrate Christmas and Easter, although a slight debate started at first about which was which.  With my Christmas lesson over, I left them to pick back up with their own conversation. To my joyful surprise it stayed on God and Jesus and heaven and angels and… 

Their words became background noise as we neared the restaurant as I was paying more attention to maneuvering around the tight parking lot into the drive-thru, but you know how it is when you hear your name – your ears perk up and you pay attention.

“Ask Grandma, she’ll know,” Brayden was sure I’d be able to answer the question he and Jacob had been unable to resolve.  His confidence touched my heart.

“Grandma, is God married?” Jacob asked just as I finished placing our order.

“No, there is no marriage in heaven.”  I knew better than try to explain the bride of Christ at this point.  The simple answer for their age was the best. 

 Brayden disagreed. “I thought Mary was His wife.  She’s the mother of Jesus. They had a baby together.”

“No, Mary wasn’t really married to God.  Mary had a husband.  She was married to Joseph.”

Instantly I heard sheer horror from the two boys who exclaimed in thundering unison, “Well that ain’t right!”

I understood why it is I no longer teach children’s church.

Ah, moments I can’t undo, but probably wouldn’t if I could.  Well, maybe the diarrhea question.  That one I could definitely live without.  I assure you, there have been many more such moments in my life.

So why do I share them with you?  I hope that you will learn, like I have had to learn, to take yourself a little lightly when you blunder.  We make a lot of mistakes in this life and many of them are not laughing matters.  I’m addressing here what are really minor mistakes that we make on a frequent basis.  They’re not life-threatening, but they do make life more difficult and can put quite a damper on our day.  You know the kind:

Forget to pay the light bill.  Call your new boyfriend by your ex’s name – one too many times.  Snap at your co-worker for something they didn’t even do because you had a bad morning.  Submit your first draft to the boss instead of your final work – the one with the “OMG” and “how did I get this assignment, anyway?” notes here and there.  Not realize you forgot your phone at home until you have a flat tire and need to call for help.  Or, God forbid, get involved in conversation and reduce those T-Bones to char with six people waiting to eat.

They can’t all just be laughed away with no consequences other than a little embarrassment.  It often takes time, effort, money, and a lot of humility to clean up our messes.

Still, this doesn’t mean we’re stupid or a failure or weak or the personification of any other negative adjective.  It simply means we’re human.  We are made of dust.  Dust God created, then used to create us.  We are his workmanship, his masterpiece, but made of dirt nonetheless.  He wants us to remember all of who we are. 

“The handiwork of God, yes, but still prone to err.” When we say it like that it helps us remain humble before him and thankful for his grace.  We need that. We also need to hear it in reverse.  “Prone to err, yes, but still the handiwork of God.”  That’s how God sees us, and that’s how he wants us to see ourselves.

Should we then be careless or unconcerned?  Never.  Should we then not feel remorse when our mistakes are of a serious nature?  We should indeed.  This is how we learn.  This is how we grow.  But we must also remember what is said a gazillion times plus each day, “nobody’s perfect.”  That includes me; that includes you. 

We are going to say and do stupid things sometimes.  That doesn’t make us stupid.  We are going to make foolish decisions at times.  That doesn’t make us a fool.  We are going to react badly or do bad things on occasion.  That doesn’t make us bad.

We can’t undo those moments, but we can use them to our advantage.  As John Maxwell so aptly puts it, we can fail forward.  So don’t be so hard on yourself when you make a mistake. Deal with it.  Learn from it.  Don’t let it ruin your day or your perception of who you are in Christ. We are a work in progress, not one of perfection.

Don’t just take my word for it, here’s a little of what the Word has to say:

Indeed, we all make many mistakes. James 3:2a NLT

For He knows our frame, He [earnestly] remembers and imprints [on His heart] that we are dust.  Psalm 103:14 AMPC

For we are His workmanship [His own master work, a work of art], created in Christ Jesus [reborn from above—spiritually transformed, renewed, ready to be used] for good works, which God prepared [for us] beforehand [taking paths which He set], so that we would walk in them [living the good life which He prearranged and made ready for us].  Ephesians 2:10 AMP

I don’t mean to say that I have already achieved these things or that I have already reached perfection. But I press on to possess that perfection for which Christ Jesus first possessed me.  Philippians 3:12 NLT

Though the just fall seven times, they rise again, but the wicked stumble from only one mishap.  Proverbs 24:16 NABR

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