Being Wrong
Life throws us curve-balls; The hard, blunt, solid kind of ball that, I can assure you, isn't designed to bounce!
They can be aimed right for the chest and leave gaping confusion on impact.
They can be aimed at the gut, stealing your air and running off with what little you have left.
Some are even aimed at an exposed temple, or if need be, square between the eyes, knocking the sense back into you.
And sometimes, they're even meant to take you completely off-course, and temporarily shut the lights off altogether.
They are designed to get your attention!
They are made to leave a mark!
The curve-balls sent my way lately have the same name on each of them. Over and over again, they leave their initials imprinted on my skin.
They go by the name of, "Being Wrong."
"Being Wrong" has taught me things; things that only grow on the other side of "Being Right."
Certain things, I can only whisper about because admitting them chokes me up.
Other things, I simply can't shut up about, because of what I'm learning through them.
And still, there are some things that I just can't (or won't) ever understand.
I'm still wrestling with being "okay" with that last line and the struggle to accept it probably leaves me more bruised up than the average Joe-lene!
But I'm okay with bruises.
Especially when they're rich in my favorite shades of purple. Bruises mean that I'm showing up differently, I'm leaning in harder and more intentionally, and I'm taking a chance or two.
"Being Wrong" can be hard to admit, until you see it for what it's worth; What it's designed to teach; The growth that it wants to bring.
"Being Wrong" used to paralyze me and I trembled as I waited. I'm not sure what I was waiting for ... but I waited with everything that I had to wait with!
I'm not afraid of "Being Wrong" anymore.
Instead, I'm more afraid of "Not Trying."
And that is a different beast altogether.
They can be aimed right for the chest and leave gaping confusion on impact.
They can be aimed at the gut, stealing your air and running off with what little you have left.
Some are even aimed at an exposed temple, or if need be, square between the eyes, knocking the sense back into you.
And sometimes, they're even meant to take you completely off-course, and temporarily shut the lights off altogether.
They are designed to get your attention!
They are made to leave a mark!
The curve-balls sent my way lately have the same name on each of them. Over and over again, they leave their initials imprinted on my skin.
They go by the name of, "Being Wrong."
"Being Wrong" has taught me things; things that only grow on the other side of "Being Right."
Certain things, I can only whisper about because admitting them chokes me up.
Other things, I simply can't shut up about, because of what I'm learning through them.
And still, there are some things that I just can't (or won't) ever understand.
I'm still wrestling with being "okay" with that last line and the struggle to accept it probably leaves me more bruised up than the average Joe-lene!
But I'm okay with bruises.
Especially when they're rich in my favorite shades of purple. Bruises mean that I'm showing up differently, I'm leaning in harder and more intentionally, and I'm taking a chance or two.
"Being Wrong" can be hard to admit, until you see it for what it's worth; What it's designed to teach; The growth that it wants to bring.
"Being Wrong" used to paralyze me and I trembled as I waited. I'm not sure what I was waiting for ... but I waited with everything that I had to wait with!
I'm not afraid of "Being Wrong" anymore.
Instead, I'm more afraid of "Not Trying."
And that is a different beast altogether.
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