Be careful about what you preach, because sooner or later, somebody will hold you to it.
I learned that lesson from my granddad, an itinerant preacher who worked for the Lord, as my grandmother said, when he couldn’t find a paying job.
There was no sin he could ever commit without hearing about it from his wife or nine daughters or (and I’m not proud of it) me. Like the time he took a pan of cornbread out of the oven with his bare hand.
“Granddaddy,” I said, “didn’t you tell me it’s wrong to cuss?”
He shot me a damnation look he used in sermons. “It’s also wrong to kill,” he said, dabbing butter on his blisters, “but, hell, I’ve been wrong before.”
The lesson grew clearer when I became the mother of three, all born with an ability to forget anything I said that I wanted them to remember and to recall in detail every word I ever prayed they’d forget.
Once, when my oldest was 10, he did something at church to embarrass me. Yes, worse than usual. OK, I’ll just say it. He told his little brother to run through the social hall naked.
So I gave the boy a talking-to about character, the lack of it and how one’s actions, good or bad, reflect on one’s parents.
“Mom,” he said, grinning. “If parents could turn out perfect kids, where did God go wrong with Adam and Eve?”
I should never have told him about Adam and Eve. I ought to have said, “It’s wrong to kill, but I’ve been wrong before.”
My kids aren’t the only ones who hold me to what I say. Readers do it, too. Here’s an e-mail from Valerie in Alabama:
“I recently celebrated my 80th birthday by enrolling in a writing school. Your column inspired me to do this.
“Since my husband died, I have been in a depressed funk. Your words of wisdom, which I read every week, made me realize life does not have to be lived this way.
“I shut down my pity party and started on a new adventure and if I can spread a smile across someone’s face or instill hope into anyone’s heart, should I be so fortunate to get something published, it will be worth the time I spend learning to be a better writer.
“Thank you for your inspiration, which proves an old dog can always learn new tricks. Have a belated Happy Birthday ó Valerie.”
It was a lovely note, much appreciated, though I couldn’t for the life of me recall what I had written to make her feel that way. Also, as I read it, I was sitting at my computer in my “Viva Las Vegas!” flannel pajamas, wallowing in a deep, depressed funk.
Never mind why. “Why” never matters. Instead of feeling, as Valerie said, inspirational and wise, I felt like a hypocrite, not to mention a total loser.
I can’t speak for you. But people like Valerie and me? We get that way sometimes. When we do, it helps to have a friend to remind us of things we know, things we preach, but don’t always practice.
It’s hard to always practice what you preach, whether you’re a preacher or a mother or a newspaper columnist.
We need to take turns, like soldiers in battle, propping each other up, binding our wounds, reminding one another of the things we hold true.
I read Valerie’s note and felt it put a smile on my face. Then I read it to my husband and watched it do the same for him.
So I shut down my pity party and wrote Valerie to thank her. But I forgot to tell her the best part: Valerie, if you’re reading this? You just got published. And it won’t be the last time. I’m sure of it ó even though I’ve been wrong before.
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Sharon Randall can be contacted at P.O. Box 777394, Henderson NV 89077, or at www.sharonrandall.com.