I’m With Stupid

  I’m so grateful I didn’t marry a scorekeeper. My on-field performance wouldn’t have stood a chance.   I know that some of you who know me are thinking that I’m just overstating things in a self-deprecating way to make a point. If you’re gauging me from the typical measuring standards of human decency and being nice to others then you’d have a point. I score OK on those, but … big deal, most people do. Even people who would prefer to live completely self-absorbed lives know that living decently and treating others like they have value simply makes more sense when operating in community. Everybody wins. Especially ourselves.   But keep in mind that:

• You don’t have to be evil to still be wrong.
• You don’t have to be bad to still be inappropriate.
• You don’t have to be a fool to still be foolish.

  And over the years I’ve been wrong, inappropriate, and foolish more times than I’d want anyone to count—especially my wife. She’s the one that usually has to bear the brunt of my stupidity. So, if she were keeping a running tally, she could easily feel justified in wearing an “I’m With Stupid” T-shirt any time she’s around me.  

• Being at the wrong place at the right time or the right place at the wrong time comes easy to me.
• Saying what comes to my mind before it’s had any chance to marinate in that corner of your brain set aside for assessing appropriateness has been a life-long struggle.
• Going with my hunch when there’s little evidence I was ever given the “gift of hunch” has cost us time and money over the years.
• My cookbook on “Eating Crow” is in its fifth printing.
• I seem to have a knack for coming off like a pair of scuffed brown shoes with a tuxedo in formal settings.
• And when it comes to romance, I sometimes appear like I’m channeling Lloyd Christmas from Dumb & Dumber at just the wrong time.

  Jesus could have worn an “I’m With Stupid” robe throughout his entire public ministry. Between his hand-picked band-of-brothers that took turns missing the point and the myriad individuals who couldn’t see past their personal neediness, he could have spent just about every waking hour rolling his eyes and shaking his head.   But he didn’t.   He looked at them—with their countless missteps and mistakes—through gracious eyes. He was sensitive toward their insecurities. He was longsuffering toward their awkward attempts at relationships. He saw what was wrong with them but continued to work overtime to make something better out of them. That, my friend, is amazing grace.   Fortunately, His grace is contagious. And I’m grateful that my wife caught enough of it through her relationship with Jesus to resist her right to wear a you-know-what T-shirt when she’s standing next to me.