What Would Life Be Without Mistakes

Let me be clear from the beginning. I have made a lot of mistakes during my life. I have made mistakes that I don't even know about to this day. Even the ones I do know about, I cannot remember very clearly. Mistakes are a part of life. Unfortunately, some people believe they live their whole life without making any mistakes. That's mistake number one. I am where I am today because of the mistakes in my life. I have learned a lot from my mistakes, except I have not learned not to make any more mistakes. If somebody has not made mistakes in life, I would have to give that award to the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage. Perhaps the closest she has ever come to making a mistake was in marrying me, but that certainly was not my mistake at all. Marrying her was the best choice I have ever made in life. I suppose she does make mistakes, but she knows how to fix them before anybody notices them. I wish I knew how she does that. Those who think they make no mistakes in life are just kidding themselves and are not really living. I remember several years ago a mistake I made. I planned to fill up my truck with gas for the week. It was clearly on empty. I should never have let it get that low, but I did. As I drove to the gas station, I thought of something I needed to pick up at Publix, which was on the way. So I stopped, went in and bought the item I wanted and then went out to get in my truck and go get some gas. As I turned the key to start the engine, it did not start. I didn't know what to do at the time. I tried my best to start it, but nothing I did managed to start it. Then, I looked at the fuel tank gauge and saw that it had passed empty, and according to that, the truck was out of gas. That was a big mistake. That mistake brought me a terrible consequence. I sat in the truck for a few moments staring at my cell phone. I knew what I had to do, but I didn't want to do it. In a few minutes, I tried to start it again, and I had the same result. Quietly sitting in the truck, I continued staring at my cell phone. I had no option at the time. I had to do what I had to do. So, I called the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage. "My dear," I said as sweetly as possible, which is above my pay grade, "could you get a can of gasoline and bring it to me? I'm over here at Publix." I heard silence on the other end, and then I heard chuckling. "Are you telling me," she said, trying not to chuckle, "that your truck is out of gas?" Of course, she knew the answer to that question, but she used it to poke me. "No," I said sarcastically, "I just want to know if you can bring me a can of gasoline to Publix." I think she could feel the frustration in my voice. That certainly was another mistake added onto the first mistake. "Oh," she said, "I might be able to get over there in about three hours." I did hear her chuckling over the phone. I pretended I did not hear her chuckling, which was another mistake. I hung up the phone and sat in my truck thinking that I had a three-hour wait until she got there with the gas for the truck. On my fourth deep sigh, I saw my wife driving her van and park right next to my truck. I saw her through the window with the biggest smile I've ever seen her wear. She got out of her van and said, "Is this the truck that's out of gas?" At this point, I had exhausted all of my mistakes and just soberly nodded my head in the affirmative. She got a can of gas out of her van and set it down next to my truck. I picked it up and emptied it into my truck's gas tank. When finished, I put the can back in her van and closed the door. Then, I looked at her and simply said, "Thank you so much for your help." She chuckled and said, "Do you think you ought to go and fill your truck up with gas now?" Being all out of mistakes at this point, I told her, "I'm going right now and fill this truck up with as much gas as I can get." I took my time going to the gas station and filling up my truck because I knew I would experience the next stage of my wife's giggling about my mistake as soon as I got home.

Green Thumb Versus Black and Blue Thumb

If you came to our parsonage, you would discover all over our property, plants and flowers. Just don't ask me to identify what they are. I can tell a plant from a flower, but that's as far as it goes with me. That is not true with the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage. She gets all the credit for all the plants and flowers on our property. She knows them all by name. But, of course, I'm not sure if she's making up those names because I couldn't tell one plant from another plant. Walking up to our house, you will see right next to the door a pineapple plant. I never knew exactly what it was, but my wife kept telling me it was a pineapple. Then this year, the pineapple actually developed. It took several years for it to get to this stage. It has grown quite a bit during this year. Looking at it, you would think you were in Hawaii. When she first planted it she asked me, "Did you see my new plant out front?" I did not, but I did not want to tell her that I did not. I try to keep things on the even as much as possible. So I just said, "Yes, I saw it, and it looks wonderful." I smiled a very gregarious smile at her. I thought I was off the hook with that, but guess what? I was not off the hook, because then she said, "What kind of a plant is it?" If I would've had all day and a thousand guesses, I could not have guessed what kind of plant it was. For me, one plant is the same as another. It makes no difference to me. "For your information," she said somewhat sarcastically, "it is a pineapple plant." I only thought they grew pineapples in Hawaii. Then, of course, there was the proposition that she was fooling with me. Why in the world would anybody want to grow a pineapple plant? "Oh," I said as humbly as I possibly could, "I didn't recognize it because I've never seen a pineapple plant before." Then she said, "Why don't you go out front and look at it?" When you're in as much trouble as I am, you do what you are invited to do. So, I went out, and she followed me to the front to look at the pineapple plant. It was a very profitable session. First, she gave me a very detailed lecture on the pineapple plant, planting it and watering it through the year. Then she told me how long it takes a pineapple to grow to the point of harvesting. Then, the other night she brought in from the backyard an armful of yellow dandelions. So, it seems that she has planted dandelions, and they have grown and produced these beautiful yellow flowers. As far as I'm concerned, a flower is a flower. But with the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage, every flower has its own story. I had the story of the pineapple plant, and now I was privileged to hear the story of the dandelion flowers. Again, whether it's true or not is above my pay scale. I think she is the Martha Stewart of all things growing outside in our backyard. Walking around our house outside, you would notice all kinds of plants and flowers of different colors. They all look healthy and are very beautiful. I once walked around trying to identify the plants and the flowers, and I failed miserably. Someone in our home has a green thumb, and someone has a black and blue thumb. No need to explain any further. The one secret to her plants and flowers is that she talks to them. I didn't know plants and flowers could hear, but obviously, they do. Last week it hadn't rained for days, and I heard her out on the porch saying, "Don't worry, it will rain very soon. Be ready for it and be patient." Not knowing what she was talking about or who she was talking to, I just responded by saying, "Thanks, I was wondering about when it would rain." Evidently, talking to the plants and flowers is very much appreciated by those plants and flowers. I've been tempted to go out and talk to them myself, but I was fearful that they would shrink in fear. Then guess who would be in trouble? It's pretty evident that I could not take care of plants and flowers as she does. Probably none of them would survive. Those plants and flowers ought to be quite thankful that I am not the one taking care of them. They ought to be thankful for the expert with a wonderful green thumb and not the one with the black and blue thumb.