Bragging Rights

I had the opportunity to do something wrong the other day. Something that I had managed to rationalize as not being really wrong, but more like temporarily incorrect. Because I would be able to right this wrong, fairly quickly, and everything would be okay.

But something--I guess it was my conscience--made me stop short. I didn't need to convince myself that what I planned to do wasn't right; I simply said to myself, "You can't do this."

And that was that. I never looked back. And it felt really good. So good, in fact, that I was practically patting myself on the back, praising myself for doing the right thing (or not doing the wrong thing). Honestly, I almost started skipping down the street as I thought about it yesterday.

Then I asked myself: Is this really something to be self-congratulatory about? Can you really brag about being very, very close to committing a sin and deciding at the last minute not to follow through?

I was convinced that I had no reason to be pleased with myself. Instead, I should be upset with myself for even considering doing something wrong!

But in church today, when we got to the part where we ask God for forgiveness "for what I have done and what I have failed to do," I realized something: If my conscience hadn't stepped in and told me to do the right thing, I would have had that sin on my mind. I would have had to confess that I had "sinned through my own fault." Instead, I was able to thank God for giving me a conscience and the good sense to pay attention to it.

It may not have been a reason to brag, but it was definitely a moment to realize that doing what's right feels a whole lot better than feeling guilty about choosing the wrong path.

When the Cat's Away, the Mouse Won't Sin

My husband is at a conference in Chicago for two days. This is only the fourth time in our ten-year marriage that he has gone somewhere on his own. I miss him, but I love this time!

For some reason, I feel that I'm a better person when he's away. Isn't that silly? There are no doubt some people who feel that when the mouse is away, the cat will play. Not me. I'm not interested in jacking up the credit card balance or having a wild party in my house (which actually can't be done with three small children around). In fact, I feel the need to be even more responsible, which, I guess, also makes me feel like I'm less likely to do something wrong.

Maybe everyone can relate to this a bit. Whether it's your spouse, your parent, your boss or someone else closely connected to your life, you feel like you almost always have to be "on" in order to please this person. And always being "on" has a tendency to make some of us mess up a little. For me, it's a constant feeling that I've got to be doing everything "right" all the time. It's not that my husband demands this--not at all. But as the wife, the mom, the cleaner of the house, I feel a heavy sense of obligation. And when I mess up an obligation, I have a tendency to go overboard to try to rectify the situation or, worse yet, cover it up.

This can lead to lying (for instance, saying you turned in the taxes, when in fact they're stuffed in the back of your file cabinet), cheating (perhaps taking $30 out of the bank instead of $20, with the unspoken promise that you will make up the difference in a few days), concealing things that shouldn't be concealed (like an overdue credit card statement) and other incorrect behavior. And it's a snowball effect; you cover up one thing, and then you have to cover up something else that comes along after it.

Today, while my husband is in Chicago, I'm living life as usual. I got two kids on the bus, took the littlest one to pre-school, went to the grocery store, and now I'm doing my work. Still, I don't feel like I'm "on." The pressure is off, which for some reason, makes it easier for me to be better at most things. Go figure!

Do I Have to Confess My Goofy Mistakes?

I often confuse my silly errors with sins, as if accidentally breaking a glass or throwing away your child's artwork is strictly forbidden in the Ten Commandments. It just always seems to me that saints would be smart enough not to do dumb things. If you're really connected with God and yourself, then you wouldn't drive into the garage with the car hatch open.

This is the problem with studying good people from long ago. We hear about their good deeds and perhaps about their sinful lives before they found faith, but we never get a sense if they were accident-prone, forgetful or clumsy. Did Noah have to turn the ark around because he forgot to load a few animals? Is St. Anthony the patron saint of lost items because he could never find his Bible? Did Martin Luther accidentally put a huge hole in the church door while trying to nail his 95 Theses? I would love to know if Jesus ever ruined a perfectly good chair or table that he was building.

Perhaps the reason we don't know these things is because they don't matter. Clumsy does not equal sinful. Being absent-minded does not mean that you're also mean-spirited, greedy or distrustful. You can do good things while doing a few goofy things at the same time!

I tried to remember this last evening when I basically ruined a game that my husband had since he was ten years old. It is a manual tabletop basketball game. You push down on little levers to release a ping pong-like ball from various holes. The goal is to get the ball into a little mesh net attached to a think wire resembling a hoop.

My son lost the ping pong ball, and, I, wanting to be helpful, searched the house for a replacement. I returned with a small bouncy ball, which I wasn't sure would work but suggested he give it a try. "It works okay," he replied, and started to play his game. I went back to cleaning the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, my husband gasped in only a way that could mean something was broken. "What are you doing?" he yelled to Dominic. "You can't use that heavy ball with this game!" The relatively hefty bouncy ball had pulled the frail wire hoop out of its holes.

I ran into the TV room to find my son near tears. Disappointing his father hurts him more than just about anything else. "It wasn't his fault," I blurted. "I gave him the bouncy ball. It's my fault." Now the blame had been shifted to the right person, but it didn't stop my husband from being angry or my son from being sad. Both went to bed unhappy last night.

I was left feeling less than adequate. Perhaps if I had stopped to think things through for a few minutes, I would have suggested that Dominic ask his father what he should do. My goal was to help. Obviously, it was a goal unfulfilled.

I felt guilty, but I was determined not to feel like a bad person. It's hard, though. You wonder if you're too distracted with day-to-day issues and too burdened with self-imposed deadlines to think clearly and wisely. Is my need to help everyone as much as I can actually keeping me from doing things the right way?

In hindsight, I think we can determine that I'm not a bad person. We can also conclude that I don't fully understand why heavy objects should not be thrown at thin, delicate objects! It hurts to make mistakes, but it should hurt more to offend God. This is something I need to keep in mind.