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  • Kerstin Lindquist

A Million Little Fails

A Million Little Fails.

By Kerstin Lindquist

It’s a million little fails. Being five minutes late at pick up, forgetting her towel for swim team, missing the light, not packing the permission slip. It’s having a glass of wine for the third night in a row. It’s being too tired to play trucks with the toddler, saying no, again.

It’s a constant stream of little losses. Not being able to take the car seat out of the car. It’s dropping something as you’re coming in with your arms overflowing. It’s making a wrong turn. Forgetting the one thing you went to the grocery store to get in the first place.

The pressure of the small misses threatens to suffocate.

People ask how it’s going, and you say it’s fine because it is fine. Where’s the big bad thing you can hold up as proof of your pain? Where’s the cancer, the death, the bankruptcy. The kids are healthy, the house is secure, and you are fine. But you aren’t. Every day the million little fails all come together and make one big struggle. The guilt over your lack of real problemsfollows the fails like a shadow. The duo brings you to tears in the bathroom, pounding your knees with moans of, “what is wrong with me? Why can’t I get this right!?”

It’s not being able to pay for the event and having to tell your kid no. It’s your daughter’s classmate having a better phone than you, their parents a better car.

“None of this matters!” You scream, but it all does. Everyone else seems to have it together. And when the major crisis does happen, they don’t fall apart like you do, but rise above. Or so you tell yourself, but they don’t. You know that too.

You sit in tears surrounded by the little fails dancing victoriously around their prey.

Then a small act moves you. The four-year-old brings you mud tiramisu made in old plastic Tupperware and asks for “huggies.” The fails tell you that bowl is toxic, that child hasn’t had a haircut in three months, his clothes are stained, and he doesn’t have on any shoes.

But your Lord shows you His love in that dirty little miracle.

But the hug.

But his love.

But His love.

This is the love you need to show yourself. Because you are so good at giving it to everyone but you. That child feels your love what about the child in you? You’ve kept your people alive and thriving and now it’s time to do the same for yourself.

You need that love.

You are so loved.

These aren’t fails, they are blessings. You’re trying to find peace in circumstances; having it all together, keeping up with the Jones’, but peace can only be found in giving it all up, and letting your Lord fill you up.

You aren’t late, you are living.

You didn’t forget, you are forgiven.

You aren’t too tired, you are trying.

Your life is not made up of a million little fails, but infinite moments of grace.

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