The word that fits both blanks in the title of this post is "wrong."
And yet, typing that word after the first person singular pronoun, in any form, is so distasteful to me that I will avoid doing it at almost any cost.
It's very hard for me to admit that I'm (gulp) W-R-O-N-G.
See? I had to spell it letter by letter, rather than say it all together.
Why is it such a hard thing to say?
Well, for one thing, no one likes to be wrong. It's really no fun at all to realize that something you've thought or believed for whatever period of time is nothing but bunk. And if realizing it is difficult, admitting it to others is only going to be even less comfortable. For me, it's an issue of pride, which (I know) is a rather shopworn idea, and as such, one that needs very little in the way of explanation here (as it has received bounteous attention elsewhere). Instead, I'll tell a story that might shed some light on why being w-r-o-n-g is so hard for me--and why, in the end, I have nothing to fear from it. The story is forthcoming, and should appear in another post later this week, but for now, know that I have been WRONG in the past and I'll be WRONG in the future. And while admitting that I'm WRONG may require drinking an extra-large dose of bitter humility (it tastes like chicken. Not really.), it is also the ONLY way that true healing and restoration can come to relationships that have been damaged by a refusal to do so.
More to come...
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