Mistakes

by Donna Poole

Mistakes. Authors dread them. We might call a character Rose all through a book but for some reason name her Lily on page 103. Not even the best of editors can catch every mistake.

I was pretty proud when our local newspaper published an article I’d written about an Easter ice storm on the front page until I noticed that every time I’d typed “friends from church” they’d printed “fiends from church.”

Then I wondered, had the mistake been theirs or mine? I’d sent them the only copy of my manuscript—beginner’s mistake—so I’ll never know.

Writing mistakes are nothing new. I recently read Daniel Defoe made a rather big blunder when he wrote Robinson Crusoe. When that famous castaway found himself on the Island of Despair he looked out at the ocean and saw the ship sinking. Knowing he’d need supplies to survive, he stripped, swam to the ship, hastily grabbed what supplies he could get, and shoved them into his pockets.

Wait. What pockets?

Poor Daniel Defoe. If only he’d lived in the twenty-first century and had published his book on Amazon. Some helpful reader would have pointed out to him the error of his ways and he could have gone back and edited the manuscript before the next printing. Simple fix.

If only life’s mistakes were such simple fixes.

I’d rather be an author than an inspirational speaker, a teacher, or a preacher. At least we can edit our manuscripts before they appear in public. Someone standing before a microphone doesn’t have the luxury of backtracking a botch before the audience howls or gasps.

Perhaps you’ve heard the true tale of the preacher who, referring to Psalm 6:6, said, “David wet his bed. David wet his bed every night. David wet his bed every night with his tears.”

On the way home from church the preacher asked his wife her opinion of his sermon.

“Honey,” she said, “the tears came three sentences too late.”

Some mistakes are funny; some are awkward, but some are devastating.

We even trip up in casual conversation. Yesterday, the mechanic working on our new to us truck called.

“Wait and let me put John on the phone,” I said to the mechanic. “You guys don’t speak English.”

Silence. Dead. Silence.

“You aren’t laughing,” I said.

More. Dead. Silence.

Kimmee, who overheard the whole conversation because I had it on speaker, later said, “Mom, he could have interpreted what you said as a racist remark.”

I winced.

Of course, he could have. I meant to convey I don’t speak mechanic.

Well, the mechanic called again today, and John wasn’t home. He was perfectly friendly, and we both ignored my yesterday’s gaffe; I didn’t try to explain it. He did explain to me the work that needed to be done, and I learned some words in mechanic, the language I don’t speak. Now, I could tell you what “idler arm” and “pitman arm” are. I could explain today; though, I’ll probably forget by tomorrow since mechanic isn’t my native language. It should be my second language by now, as often as we have our vehicles in for work!

The mechanic had the parts; John wasn’t home, so I told him to go ahead and start working. Let’s hope that wasn’t a mistake. Though from my new understanding, people can’t just go around driving with defective idler and pitman arms; they may encounter a complete loss of steering ability.

We do make some mistakes so disastrous we experience a complete loss of steering ability. We crash and burn; relationships lay mangled on the side of the road. And sometimes they can’t be resuscitated. There’s no going back then and editing out the words or actions that led to the demise of the job, or the friendship, or the marriage.

What then? We apologize to God and others. We spend the time we need to mourning beside the side of the road, but then, with God’s help, we move on and begin to heal.

Scars remain; most of us have memories we wish we could rewrite. But Robinson Crusoe is still a beloved classic, though flawed—a fantastic tale of survival even though the castaway put his loot in his non-existent pockets.

We don’t have to be perfect to be beloved. We’re all sinners; Jesus loves sinners, and he gave his life to wipe our hearts clean of sin.

And if we’re blessed, we’ll find people who will love us too, just like we are, flawed classics made beautiful by Christ in us, the hope of glory.

And what if we don’t find someone to love us? We can find someone who needs our love; broken lonely people aren’t hard to find. If we don’t know where to start, we could visit the nearest nursing home and ask for a resident who doesn’t get any visitors. If we don’t know what to say once we get to that person’s room, we could always read them Robinson Crusoe. We might save them and ourselves from the Island of Despair.