What if You’re Wrong?

Once I was feeling very defensive about a particular subject in the midst of a conversation with my brother, who had a different opinion. I respect him so much and love him to pieces, so it was easy for me to ask myself, "What if I am wrong?" At that moment, I did not know who was right or wrong, or if that was even an accurate measure of the conversation. I just knew that if my brother thought one way and I thought another, I was open to being wrong.

The next question, the one Christian and I are wrestling with in our piano lessons is especially important. It goes like this, "What happens if I am wrong?" For Christian and I, if we are wrong, neither of us will progress in our piano lessons past a certain point. Sure, you can fudge on the fingering of Hot Cross Buns but I'm working on Debussy's Deux Arabesques and I will NOT master this piece without attention to my fingering.

It was also an important question when I was feeling a bit defensive and on the verge of arguing with my brother. Why would I want to argue with my brother over something I might be wrong about? Even if I'm right, is it worth arguing about with my precious bro? No.

When we ask ourselves what happens if we're wrong, or even if we're right, it allows us to think further ahead than our passions are leading us. Christian wants to play Hot Cross Buns his way but he is neither old enough or experienced enough to even conceive of what those fingers will need to do when he tackles Debussy.

If I'm wrong and defensive in my relationships, I may create needless conflict and hurt feelings. I may act like a jerk. People I love may falsely conclude that I do not respect them or care about their opinions.

"What happens if I am wrong?" OR even..."What happens if I am right but act like a jerk?" are two questions that help remind us to care less about some things because we care so deeply about other, higher values.

Softball as a Sacred Space

During the first summer of our marriage my husband severely broke his ankle while playing church softball. The second his foot hit the bag he knew he was in trouble; his foot pointed in the wrong direction and flopped around like a fish out of water as his teammates hauled him off and parked him on the hillside bordering the field.

At first, his friends did not want to acknowledge the seriousness of the injury. “Walk it off!” they encouraged. Afraid that they would have to forfeit the game because of the slim turnout of players that night made Pete invaluable so long as he could play.

Once he was deemed a non-contributor, they left him on the sidelines and continued to play one man down. A wife on the opposing team finally found a pay phone (no cell phones back in those days) and called me to come fetch my now worthless husband.

To be fair, when his friends heard that he had been rushed into surgery and told he may never walk normally again, two of them apologized for their competitive ways. Two.

Decades later, I still ponder this story. I marvel at how easily we abandon our core values for our passions. When the scriptures tell us that we belong to the truth, it is in no way implying that we are actually living by the truth. What it is saying is this: God gets us. He is truth. He is greater than our hearts, our passions, even the way other humans talk about him. We can rest in his presence because he is safe, not because we have figured out how to get life right. We can and will make mistakes - this does not change God’s attitude toward us.

But there is a caveat. We need to pay attention and acknowledge the truth about ourselves. We need to wrestle when our life is out of sync with what we say we value. On that hot August night in 1978 an entire team of Christian men were so distracted by their softball record that they let a fallen friend lay forgotten in agony while they returned to their respective positions.

Step one challenges us to acknowledge the real deal with ourselves, to name our compulsive way of being in the world AND its devastating effects on our lives (and eventually the lives of others). We do not thrive when our life is unmanageable. The chaos creates a forgetfulness that crowds out love to make room for our addiction. When we are not living a manageable life, we are feeding shame and condemnation. That stuff does a good enough job of bringing us down on its own - it does not need us feeding it more fodder by living unconsciously!

My dear children, let’s not just talk about love; let’s practice real love. This is the only way we’ll know we’re living truly, living in God’s reality. It’s also the way to shut down debilitating self-criticism, even when there is something to it. For God is greater than our worried hearts and knows more about us than we do ourselves. 1 John 3:18-20 The Message