Pointing fingers

Pointing fingers

“It’s no use pointing fingers at yourself,” Husband told me recently.

It made me pause.

I’m not a finger pointer. I don’t place blame. I conscientiously work to offer grace rather than fault, to give the benefit of the doubt. To be understanding.

But there is one person I hold to a different standard. One person who doesn’t receive a “Get out of jail free” card. One person who gets chastised, berated, guilt-ridden when something goes wrong. Me.

Twice in the last week, I’ve let myself down.

The truth is, I forgot. Two things lost amidst the many other things of life. Really, in the grand scheme of life, neither are even that important. But I gave my word, a commitment, and then forgot. And I don’t normally do that.

But instead of giving myself the grace I so freely offer others, I let myself fall into thoughts of failure, frustration, even anger at myself.

I was pointing a finger at myself.

Husband is right, I need to not only give grace to others, but also to myself. I need to let myself be human. Understand that I make mistakes, I forget sometimes. And that isn’t failure, it’s humanity. I need to forgive myself for my own imperfections.