Failure

It was a monday afternoon in the middle of November, a little more than a week before Thanksgiving. It had been a fairly good day--not bad, but not great either. I had just run from Greek 101 to ENG 373 (Shakespeare) and was sharing a bit of small talk with a friend next to me when I looked up at the chalkboard...just in time to see the teacher's assistant write my name as that day's presenter for play productions.
Several days before, we had been discussing the nature of dreams while studying A Midsummer Night's Dream, and the professor had asked us to ponder a few questions, including the nature of our worst nightmare. At that moment, several days later, I knew the answer to that specific question. I had always suspected that failure was one of my worst fears, and now I knew. I had had an assignment and had not done it.  This was my favorite class and my favorite teacher, and I had failed both.
Yesterday I experienced something similar, though perhaps less traumatic, with an online class, and it reminded me of this experience. So I decided to talk about failure.

What is failure?
The dictionary on my computer says:
failure |ˈfālyər|noun1 lack of success.• an unsuccessful person, enterprise, or thing.2 the omission of expected or required action.• a lack or deficiency of a desirable quality.
Failure is a lack of success and an omission of expected action. We've felt this. We all have goals and dreams, whether it's an A in a class or a successful career. Yet we've all fell behind in succeeding, even if it's only a small thing that won't, in the end, affect the goal. Some people may, perhaps, take this small falling behind harder than others. It seems to imply or foreshadow an overall failure. Or, if not that, it makes them feel, at least, as if those who know about this failure and those who depended on them and expected them to succeed (like teachers and classmates) can never respect them again.
But...it's not the end of the world.
My failure yesterday will, by the end of the semester, matter little to my grade...and probably even to me. Looking back on that failure in Shakespeare, I also remember other things that made it okay: the professor ended up needing the extra time, he still invited me to go to a Writers' Retreat that weekend, and, at the end of the semester, I was, to my surprise (and anxiety), chosen to represent the class in an oral, in-class examination. I realize now that my one little failure matters very little in the scheme of things. I mean, ultimately, I hadn't failed in something that would prevent me to return to God and be exalted.
It's expected that we will fail at times, that we will have bad days. That's part of life. We really can't avoid it. In fact, we can learn from these failures to improve and to be better (after yesterday, I will most certainly improve on managing my time...let's hope). Though, to tell you the truth, that's not a really cheerful thought, and it doesn't make me feel infinitely better. But it's a start. It tells me that things can change, that I can change...that I can do better in the future. It's not easy getting up after falling, trust me, but that doesn't mean that we can't get up, let alone that this fall will forever ruin our journey.

I also learned, yesterday, that it's almost impossible to fail those who truly love you. You may think that they will be disappointed (which they might be for a short while if your failure harmed your relationship with them, but you're more likely to remember it than they are), that they will chastise you (and sometimes they just might if they want the best for you (see Hebrews 12)), and that they will never believe in you or love you again, but that's not true. Love, especially God's love, is a very powerful thing, and I doubt that little failures that aren't sins can sway or destroy that love. Isn't that a beautiful thought? Knowing it may not make your day better, but it may help you get up, dust yourself off, and start anew tomorrow.

"Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out, even to the edge of doom."

--William Shakspeare, Sonnet CXVI