Mistakes
Mistakes
Something that has never failed to upset me is the realization that, as an author, I have made a multitude of mistakes. Readers of my books often delight in spotting, and then tabulating, all the typos. In seeking to express my thoughts in print, I find that they wind up garbled, distorted, or just plain incomprehensible to the reader. I am left feeling deflated, embarrassed, and defeated.
Along with my disappointment, due to my own careless editing, has been the growing realization that I don’t get the opportunity to do a re-do. I don’t have the luxury of going back over all my mistakes in print and correcting them. What’s done is done; what’s over is over.
It becomes a metaphor for my life itself: almost 90 years of screw-ups! It’s overwhelming when I review my sins of commission and omission. If only I could have the opportunity for several re-dos, believe me, I would change my decisions and their consequences. But I know this will never happen.
All I can do is to offer myself again to the Lord and place myself unconditionally in His hands.
In the poignant 51st Psalm, David wrote,
Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love; according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions. Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.--- Wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.--- Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Benjamin Franklin (1706 – 1790) composed this epitaph for himself:
The body of Benjamin Franklin, Printer (like the cover of an old book, its contents torn out and stripped of its lettering and gilding), lies here, food for worms; but the work shall not be lost, for it will (as he believed) appear once more in a new and more elegant addition, revised and corrected by the Author.
