Moral Failure

Last week I learned something really, really sad. A long-time friend, who I haven't seen in too long but who has, even in his absence, been a very important figure in my life stumbled.

Stumbled. That's a word we Christian-types use to make "completely went against everything he was supposed to be about and acted in a reprehensible way" sound neat, and quaint, and survivable.

I don't need to get into the details of that. Let's just say it was a pretty big fall, and it hit me hard. But as I processed it in my mind, I did something that I do too often. I considered it, pondered it, then, for lack of a better word, judged it. "How could he do that?" "What a horrible mistake." "I'd hate to be in his shoes." In my mind, I recognized his moral failure, and instead of internalizing it, and using it as a key to my own vault, which would allow me to open it and consider my own issues, I simply put it on the trophy-case, if you will, of other people's issues that, thank God, aren't mine.

How trite. How absolutely hideously trite.

In the last few days, I've been in a position to start taking stock of my own issues. And, in times like that, when you really start to consider how bleak a person you really are, it haunts you.

In my life, I've done some good stuff, sure. But in my life I've stumbled, tripped, fallen, crashed, burned, and worse. I've been cruel, thoughtless, careless, insensitive, mean, arrogant, judgmental, harsh, disrespectful, unrepentant, lecherous, slovenly, greedy, cynical, and so on. And, looking into that mirror, I'm absolutely repulsed.

After a recent conversation with someone who brought some of these issues to my attention, I'm left with a pit in my stomach. I've wanted to cry at the person I often am, but the opportunities to do so without awkward explanations are few and far between in our busy world. At once I feel sorry for myself, I feel sorry for those who have to deal with me, and, mostly, I feel sorry for my loved ones. I feel sorry for my wife, who I too seldom appreciate and too often, at least internally, dismiss. And I feel sorry for my daughter, because I know the kind of dad that she deserves, and I know that I'm not that man right now. I am, without a doubt in my mind, a miserable moral failure. I am not, and don't recall when I last was, the man I'm supposed to be. And that realization has, in a lot of ways, destroyed me.

And I'm happy, for lack of a better word, about that. The tears on my cheek right now are a sign that I can become what I'm not. My quivering lip is a sign that I'm not so far gone yet that I can't come back. That bleak feeling in my heart is proof that I still have one. That man that I was yesterday needs to be destroyed, because that man that I was yesterday isn't the man I'm supposed to be.

I want to be the man I'm supposed to be. I want to be the husband my wife needs, wants, deserves. I want to be the father that will rightfully be the example to his daughter of what a good Christian man is. I want the people that I touch to walk away built up, not torn down. I want to bring life and hope and peace, and not pain and sarcasm and grief.

And so I will.

I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing this here. I have a journal, but there's something powerful in sharing. Especially since my regular readers actually know me, for the most part, so in sharing this I suppose I'm actually, in my way, asking for help. None of us are on this journey alone, and though I've let so many people down in so many ways, I understand that we all need each other, and I need my friends to not only recognize that I've stumbled, but also that I'm getting up, moving on. And I need them to hold me to my commitment to be the man I set out to be so many years ago.

Others can use this as a chance to look at yourself, I suppose. I know from my own experience that, too often, we don't take the time to inspect ourselves. Maybe a combination of not wanting to find out what we are, of feeling comfortable in our routine, or of just wanting to believe that we are good. Many of you will look at yourself and find that you are fine. Some of you will take this opportunity to look at yourself and figure you that you're just as big a mess as me. I suspect that most of you will just pass this post over, dismissing it as the gloomy ramblings of a one-time depressive, former Prozac using twit. And that's fine, I guess.

I guess my biggest point here is sort of a mea culpa. Through the various modes of my life, I've inflicted my own faults on a wide swath of people. Where my list of trespasses touches on a place where I've hurt someone, in my actions or my inactions or my thoughts or words or attitudes or whatever, I guess I just want that person or those persons to know that I understand what I've done, that I despise it, and that I'm so, so sorry.

I think back on my friend, and his stumble. And my response, cavalier and thoughtless and dismissive and ultimately unfriendly and uncaring and cruel. And now, less than a week later, I think upon my own faults and wonder how I ever had the audacity to believe, for a second, that I had a right to judge his. I didn't. I don't. And I won't, not any more. I don't understand how I ever looked down on him, when the whole time I was on the cold, hard ground of moral failure with him. I'm just now figuring that out, and I'm just now starting to get up. And, before I pass judgments on the affairs of others, I need to spend some time cleaning my own house.