Oh boy, did I ever blow it. Totally screwed up. Messed up big time. In a word: FAIL. And I’m completely sick over it. Tied up in knots. Lump-in-the-throat and tears-in-the-eyes.
Usually, the admitting part is not difficult for me. I make mistakes constantly. All. The. Time. I’m forever forgetting things, mixing dates and times up, getting my facts turned around. Matt is convinced that somewhere amidst the brown and grey hairs I’ve got blonde roots. My brothers have been known to check the air pressure inside my head.
But this time, things are a little different. Not only do I have to admit my mistake, I have to admit it to my daughter.
And…I have to ask for her forgiveness.
So what did I do, you ask? What heinous crime did I commit? What could possibly make me tremble at the thought of admitting I was wrong…to a 7-YEAR-OLD??
If I tell you, you might be tempted to shrug it off as “no big deal.” You might be tempted to offer cliche’ advice like, “don’t be so hard on yourself” or “we all make mistakes.” And from your perspective, you’d be right. But I’ve had to live with the anticipation and excitement that has built up within my daughter’s psyche for the past 12 months…and now I have to crush those dreams. And it’s completely my fault.
Last year, Crisana won Best Design for Daisies in the Service Unit’s Powderpuff Derby. She has been anticipating this year’s derby since we got in the car to go home after last year’s derby. She has been talking and planning and dreaming about what her design would be, choosing color schemes and pitching ideas. A couple of weekends ago, she and Matt sat down and sketched out her design: a baby carriage (pram). They even found a pink rubber ducky with a baby bonnet to fit inside it. She was beside herself with excitement!
And then this week, I found the email from our Troop leader reminding us about registration. The deadline to register had been a week earlier. I had missed it! In a panic, with all fingers and toes crossed, I quickly sent an email to ask if there was any way we could still register. The response came back:
We appreciate the response to such a great event. Unfortunately I have to let everyone know that the Powder puff derby is officially closed. We cannot take anymore registrations.
At that moment, I can’t begin to describe how I felt. How disappointed in myself I was. How devastated I knew Crisana would be. And Matt’s encouragement? “I’m going to let you be the one to tell her.” Great. Thanks. A lot.
I knew I would need to choose a time when we weren’t busy with other things. When we had time to deal with it. When I could be there to let her express her anger and disappointment, even though there would be nothing I could do to “fix” it. When I could just hold her, let her cry, and say “I’m sorry” over and over.
Saturday morning was the time. I sat with her on her bed and very humbly admitted that I had missed the registration deadline and as a result she would not be able to race a car in the Powderpuff Derby this year. I admitted that I had no good excuse. I told her how very sorry I was because I knew how much she had been looking forward to it. I looked into those precious blue eyes, held her stubby little hands in mine and asked sincerely for her to forgive me.
And with tears of disappointment welling up, struggling to control her quivering lip and shaking voice, she looked back at me and responded, “I forgive you, Mom. Because I love you. And you’re still a great Mom.”
Wow.
At that moment, I caught just a glimpse of how great God’s love is for me. For you. For all of us. For all those times I come crawling back to Him, having blown it once again, having given in to that same old struggle, asking…begging…pleading for forgiveness. He looks at me and says, “I forgive you. Because I love you.”
How do I respond to that? I’m humbled beyond belief. Amazed beyond description. Awestruck at the magnitude of His desire for a relationship with one like me: imperfect…fallen…failing.
But still, I’m forgiven…and loved. And that, truly, is all that matters.
Of course I am going to let you tell her. I may be strange, but I am not stupid! Thanks for taking care of that hon! xxxooo
All you have to do is get some hi-lights. That is how I explain my behavior:) And it also comes in quite handy at events like the pinewood derby when you have no husband attending and your son’s car needs some work:) On a more serious note, its amazing what our children teach us.
have a at home derby with trey you matt and her spend some time building and laughing the watch her beat you all
Theresa, she probably would!!