Is there an up side
of down? I was returning to Krum from a clergy meeting and listening to NPR
when I heard a report from an author who was making just this claim. Between
the winter membership drive invitations, Megan McArdle made various points on
while failure is so essential to human growth and well-being. It sounds
counter-intuitive, but as I listened, I understood.
When we fail, we
have the opportunity to learn from the mistakes we made. When things come
easily to us, we actually may not learn as much. It’s the difference between
seeing the results of our attempts as the outcome of hard work and effort or
natural ability.
My husband is a
saxophonist and currently teaches students from middle school to undergraduate.
We have had many conversations about effort versus talent. From his
perspective, he would gladly take the student willing to try and try hard
rather than one who coasts on native ability. It’s a lesson that translates
well beyond music. We all run out of talent at some point, whatever we are
attempting, and it’s then that our effort must kick in.
Or worse, suffering
and tragedy come through no doing of our own and we must be resilient. And
resilience is built through failing, dusting ourselves off, and trying again. I’ve
reminded myself of this lesson as I watch my son grow. It’s tempting to hover
over him, to use my strength, resilience, and maturity to shield him from all
harm. My hands instinctively rose to catch him whenever he was learning to walk
and would stumble. While some measure of safety is important, I must allow him
to try, to fail, and to learn. It’s the way that all of us become resilient
individuals.
Resilience is about
more than being strong. It’s the difference between the oak and the willow
trees, if you’ve heard that old story. The two trees are standing on the bank
of a river and the oak is bragging to the willow about how beautiful and strong
it is, how its branches reach up to the sky, and its roots hold deep within the
earth. The willow agrees, its branches sagging with sadness, brushing the face
of the river. That night, a powerful storm comes with ripping winds. The
willow’s branches are tossed by the wind, but its supple frame bends. The oak
is not so lucky. With a mighty crack, the rigid oak breaks before the storm.
That’s not to say that the willow is unscathed, but it survives because of its
resiliency.
It can be the same
way for us. Last year was an incomparably hard year for me and my family. I
lost my grandfather, my baby, and my father in just a matter of months. While I
was bruised and battered by the waves of loss and grief, I also recognized
something profound. My spirit was like a weeble-wobble, those little toys that
may sway and teeter, but don’t fall down. And eventually, by God’s grace, I
began to be righted.
Especially in the
loss of our baby, I recognized the healing capacity of our wounded places. My
grief, and my willingness to be open about our story, gave others the
permission to share their stories of pain. I heard so many stories from men and
women who had finally found a safe place to share and be heard. While I don’t
believe God causes the pain and brokenness we experience in our lives, I do
believe God redeems it.
Christ is the
exemplar of this redemptive power of God through the cross and resurrection.
“He himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that,
free from sins, we might live for righteousness; by his wounds [we]
have been healed” (1 Peter 2:24). In Jesus’ woundedness for our sake, we are
offered grace upon grace. God can transform our wounds, our failures, our
weakness into avenues of grace for ourselves and others. May we find that grace
and claim it, wherever we find ourselves in this season.
