“Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the flowers, Kind deeds are the fruits.” (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

“Take it down!” The voice bellowed in my head.  “It’s unkind.  Do I really need to remind you that you’re not Ms. Perfect?” 

The Holy Spirit often speaks to me this way—not audibly, but with a clarity and tone unlike the ordinary neurotic chatter that frequently hijacks my mind. Over the years I’ve learned to recognize the difference between divine conviction and ordinary anxiety.

A few days back I posted a blog on modern dating versus the traditions of my generation, sharing a few examples of men I had dated and their approach when it came to picking up the check.  There was the “Big Spender,” the “Cheapskate,” and the “Just Right,” in a somewhat clunky Three Bears metaphor meant to highlight their differences. 

The “Big Spender” is a disreputable character I had once dated, who preyed upon the gullibility and skewered priorities of younger women, and offered a dizzying ride of entertainment courtesy of his Platinum card. As with most individuals I know and write about, his actual name remained anonymous.  I felt vindicated serving up a few punches of justified snark, for his profligate spending, once-harmless, eventually evolved into financial fraud perpetrated against innocent victims.  A line is drawn when others are harmed.  

The “Cheapskate” characterization of the second bear slowly nagged at my conscience. While we never had a serious relationship, he remained on the periphery of my life for many years. He’s a decent human being, as imperfect as the next, with his worst offense toward me being an uneasy date due to his fiscal penny-pinching as a man of means.  I felt ashamed after writing it. Each of us has character flaws and bugaboos, and provided the golden rule of “do no harm” is followed, are we to judge? 

If we’re paying attention, life has a way of course-correcting us—sometimes with a gentle whisper, other times with a well-placed kick in the pants. It’s a reminder that we’re given the opportunity to end on higher ground, evolve through the lessons, and truthfully admit when we’re wrong.  

In the end, it’s how we finish—not how we begin—that counts.