Back in 1995 I wrote an article about failure. It’s interesting that I discovered the article this morning—after repeating my failure seventeen years later. So, here we go again.

Overnight we collected about an inch of ice, then Old Man Winter finished off with an inch of dry snow. It looked more like Detroit than Ft. Worth.

After canceling work for the office staff, I stepped out to put my tire chains on the VW Bug. After much consternation, I decided I had changed tire sizes since I last used the chains in the winter of ’77, so I abandoned the chain project to go in the house and find something hot to drink.

With a cup of coffee in my belly and a kiss from Dianne on my lips, I pointed the Bug in the general direction of the deserted office in order to prepare for an upcoming conference. The normally compliant VW was not happy and kept complaining about condensation in his gas tank—not something I wanted to deal with at the time. So in my stubbornness, I figured he’d get over it and mushed onward.

The office was indeed abandoned, as were most of the thoroughfares of Cowtown. Relishing the solitude, I began praying that the Lord would guide my preparation for the impending conference. Several hours later—and no closer to inspiration—I concluded that God had not shown up at the office either.

My solitude felt more like abandonment.

You understand of course that I’m being facetious about God not showing up. But it sure seemed like he was sitting at home by the fire instead of guiding me.

Silence. Nothing.

The doors to heaven were locked and the windows barred. As I listened for even a still small voice, or a gentle whisper, all was quiet on heaven’s front.

Late in the afternoon I decided to go home via the cleaners. The Bug had gotten sicker as the day progressed and was no longer just dying at stop lights—he was also lurching down the straight-aways in intermittent death throws. This is not a good condition, especially with ice on the streets and fools out on the roads, yours truly excepted.

While getting into the car with the cleaning I whacked my head on the edge of the roof, knocked my hat over my eyes, dropped some cleaning, and slipped on the ice. What I meant to say was what the great philosopher Popeye declared, “I’ve had all I can stands, I can’t stands no more.”

But, it didn’t quite come out that way.

I totally lost it in a screaming, stomping, angry-at-God fit that lasted about fifteen seconds. Then there was silence, heavy silence.

Next, is failure fatal? And if you would like, you can sign up to have my notes sent to your Inbox automatically--so you don't miss anything.