|Love means often having to say you're sorry.|
Just not for this.
Last week I declared a moratorium on ten things I'll never apologize for again. (See that post here.)
It's freeing to realize we do not have to apologize for a lot of the things we'e spent too much of our lives apologizing for. But hold the reins. Or whatever analogy suits you. I, personally, don't really do horses. I think it has something to do with the one that tried to knock me off her back with a tree branch when I was eight. Still have equine trust issues.
So—insert your metaphor here that means—wait a minute.
There is such a thing as too free. For instance, feel free to run around your house alone in whatever state of dress you prefer. But gong to Target like that is another matter completely. (Walmart--now there you might be able to get away with it.)
Contrary to inexplicably popular 70's movies, love does NOT mean never having to say you're sorry. In fact, love means saying it often. Over and over. Because loving people up close means we'll have conflict and miscommunication, confusion and badly applied good intentions, and mornings without enough caffeine before opening our mouths. And we'll have to apologize.
So a new list this week.
Five things I hope I will always apologize for.
|Because there is always time to chaperone a class|
trip to Orlando. Always. And there is never one
more baby of the family to do it with.
It's too easy to put my agenda first without even hearing what someone is asking. Hearing sometimes requires pulling away from me and listening at a level beyond words. Life will be too busy until you die, but only if you let it be [tweet this].
|I can't I can't possibly. I just…can't.|
Oh wait. I can.
Because sometimes, I can. And I'm sacrificing something or someone to cover up for my fear or apathy. It isn't so much, “I'm sorry but I can't.” It's “I'd rather think about my own selfish self right now, thank you very much.” Ugh. I'm tired of my own selfish self. That person isn't very good company. I want to say yes more than I say no [tweet this].
That talking without thinking thing. Did I mention I can be a trifle . . . sarcastic? In fact, most of us do think before we use words that are hurtful. Then we go ahead and do it anyway.
Because of the latest Supreme Court decision, I've already read several diatribes this week using hateful, cruel language to describe people who don't agree with the writer. They have to know some of the people they call “friends” belong in the group they're describing--and hurting. But personal opinion and need to be right trump those feelings.
I need to say “sorry” for the times I disregard those feelings in my need to say something witty, or right, or judgmental. It's not OK just because I believe it.
It's easy to say, “They were only words, and they're probably forgotten.” But probably not, because words burn themselves into our souls, and words like “I'm sorry” can tweeze hurt out and heal the scar [tweet this]. Why is it so easy to launch verbal Laser Weapon Systems and so very difficult to say “I'm sorry”?
|Because sometimes, life is messy.|
You know when my ministry with other people really begin to matter? When I started saying things like, “I seriously screwed up! You too? OK, why don't we put our messes together and see what God can do to redeem it all?”
Could I please go back and apologize to all the people who saw the “I know what I'm doing all the time and, also, I know what you should be doing and how you should be doing it” woman and tell them I'm really, really sorry? And could someone smack me the next time I slip into that?
Playing the Please-Blame-Anyone-But-Me game. You know what? It's so much more work to figure out twenty ways someone else is at fault. It takes real effort to manipulate why I'm not really responsible for the thing I clearly am. I wish I had figured this out a long time ago.
It takes three seconds to say, “Yep, I should have known better, I'm sorry” and about three days to keep defending myself with many, many creative maneuvers. It's only scary to think about saying, “Sorry—my fault.” It's not so bad to do it. And be done. People respect you more, too. Trust me. People know when you're making up excuses. They really do.
Your turn again. What have you learned that we really do need to say “sorry” for? And keep saying it? And not be afraid to?