I Didn't Do It My Way

 I don't think I've learned very much during my life. I just bounce from day to day and take what comes.

The one thing I did learn as I look back is, for the most part, I didn't do it my way.

Remember Frank Sinatra and his song, "I Did It My Way?" I would have liked to ask him, how's that been working for you?

Whenever we do everything our way, there is a consequence.

You know what they say that for every action, there is a consequence. By the time the consequence hits you in the face, it's too late to make any changes.

When I ever did something "my way," it never really worked out.

The other day as I was meditating on this, I thought of how smart I was when I was a teenager. I knew everything; all you had to do was ask me. Sometimes you didn't even have to ask. I was ready to give my opinion at any time.

If only I were a smart as I thought I was when I was a teenager, everything would be gloriously wonderful. The problem is, I'm not.

I have learned that I don't have to have everything my way. That was the first thing I learned as a husband. If I get everything my way, somebody in the house is not happy.

As long as I have been with the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage, she is the only one I know that gets things done her way. Not in a bullying manner, she just seems to know the right thing to do at the right time.

I, on the other hand, cannot even tell time.

Thinking along this line, a memory flashed back. I remember rushing my wife to the hospital to deliver our first baby. I'm not sure who was more nervous, the mother or the expected father.

We got there, and she was escorted back to the delivery room where they would deliver the baby. I paced the lobby, not knowing exactly what I should be doing.

Several hours went by, and I heard nothing concerning the birth of our baby. If I only had my way, I would go back there and see for myself.

Just then, the nurse that took my wife back into the delivery room came out, and I approached her and said, "Can I go and see my wife and baby now?"

After all, I was the father, and I was paying the bill for this baby.

The nurse, who looked like she had just gone through World War II, glared at me and, with a very rough voice, said, "No, you're not going back there. After all, you're the one that's responsible for all of this."

I did not know what she meant or what she was talking about?