It's My Fault

For those of you that have children do you remember that season in which they discovered the word “my?” “My toy.” “My food.” “My clothes.” “My game.” It never seemed to end. It seemed to get worse as our family had more children. There was more to fight over and more siblings with whom to fight. “My” symbolized in one powerful word that our baby had left the world of infants and now was a competitor on the world stage. (Even if it was just our home it felt like the world was falling upon us as each child jostled for position.)

With one of my children in particular it seemed like the “my” word made everything a point of personal conquest.

One evening two of my older children found themselves in a disagreement about who to blame for family misfortune. “It’s your fault,” one screamed. “No, it’s your fault,” the other vehemently replied. Outside of their battle field a young tactical mind watched and waited. Then with one fatal swoop he ran into their midst, pushed them both aside, and proclaimed, “No, it’s my fault.”

Our young conqueror with no further ado was proclaimed the victor by his siblings. They surrendered blame for family misfortune to their youngest sibling.

What would the world be like if we jostled for responsibility and took the blame?

This week we’ll continue our series on Distant Diaspora Voices. We’ll spend some time with a man named Zachariah who wrestles deeply with the “Why” question. Why had so much misfortune fallen upon Judah?

In the world of children Zachariah’s question would lead to a jostling to blame others. However, in the world of adults responsibility is the key to personal and community renewal.

This week we’ll take a deep look at the “why” question. I hope we’ll all come away saying with childlike eagerness, “It’s my fault.”

Imana ikurinde,

Dave