The taste of leather

There are way too many days that I am painfully aware of the taste of leather and the foot in my mouth. Just when I think I've reached a certain appropriate level of maturity for a woman at my stage in life (in other words, an older woman) and begin feeling a bit confident about my progress, I start tripping over my words and say or do something arrogant or stupid, or both. Humiliating. I'm fifty-seven years old (I know - hard to believe), and yet I sometimes wonder just when it is that I am going to grow up.

After dropping one of my favorite coffee mugs on the kitchen floor last night, I breathed a sigh of relief when the mug didn't break (it didn't even chip) and I remembered something I had intended to write about but was thankfully kept from doing so.

Last Wednesday, I had underlined the following in my devotional:

"Our personal property and possessions are to be a matter of indifference to us, and our hold on these things should be very loose. If this is not the case, we will have panic, heartache, and distress." Oswald Chambers My Utmost for His Highest

"Amen! That's me!" I thought. "I'm so proud of myself for reaching the place where I am totally content with "whatever" and indifferent to property and possessions."

For several days I had intended to brag write about my victory in this area - how I have been able to release my grip on my possessions. I was quite sure that my nonchalant attitude toward an accidental spill on the living room carpet and furniture Thursday afternoon was proof of that victory and I was excited to be able to brag write about it.

I think it suffices to say that my lofty opinion of myself has been challenged and duly corrected on several fronts the past few days, and mercifully, I was spared the public humiliation of having to own up to it.