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What is the fragrance of your failure?
Failure feels awful. Anxiety, panic, shame. What if I missed my deadline? What if I didn’t pay my bills on time or, worse yet, didn’t have the money because I spent it on impulse purchases? What if I got a bad grade on my test? What if I shared a secret I wasn’t supposed to or lost my temper with a loved one or a stranger? What if I broke my promise to God? Quite frankly, at our best, we’re still a mess. “There is none righteous, no, not one” (Romans 3:10). We all fail. Sometimes these are moral failings, sometimes these are mistakes, sometimes these are poor decisions rooted in some variety of fear.
As bad as it feels to fail, it feels even worse to admit failure. It’s a declaration that I’m not enough. I am not the captain of my ship nor the driver of my destiny. Circumstances and outcomes are not firmly within my control. My desire is to hide failure, even from myself, if it were possible (Garden of Eden, anyone)? But hiding is simply a place of darkness.
By admitting failure, I am presenting the facts before court and entering my weakness into evidence. I plead guilty. That’s a very vulnerable place to be. At that moment I have placed myself in the hands of a judge. Mercy or condemnation is coming, but in recognizing and admitting my failure, I have submitted control of the outcome. No defense, only an admission of weakness or guilt.
I would feel all alone in such a courtroom, but for this fact: I have a friend in Jesus, my Advocate before the Father!
We don’t enter into the presence of the Lord with shouts of victory and triumphant success. We enter through sorrow, through failure. When we fail, when we admit it, we enter into a position of humility. And that is a great place to be—a fragrant offering to God. It’s a place of mourning, of sadness. A place of blessing.
So, what is the fragrance of your failure?
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