I really should’ve known better.
I tried my best to dress carefully that morning. Nice jacket, straight skirt, new lace-up boots, leather gloves—topped off with a red beret and scarf to match. When in Rome … you wear a beret.
Except this wasn’t Rome—we were living in Prague. It was a Friday—our typical day to go prayer walking through the ancient cobbled streets, praying for the souls of that beautiful city. My husband, our daughter, and I usually left the house early, traveled across town by bus—then subway—then tram—up to a scenic orchard overlooking the Old City. We would pray together in that lovely spot for a while and then split up to take our own separate paths of praise, meditation, and intercession.
This particular late-February day was crisp and cool. I planned to go straight from my prayer walk to meet up with a new friend I’d met at church—Carolyn. An American, she had just started coming to our chapel services and was hungry to know more about God. Today, she and another new friend were going to meet me for lunch—and I was anxious to make a good impression. I felt that God was in it.
Through the years, I have developed my own unofficial test for determining if God was in it—to assess if He might be using a particular situation to teach me a lesson. I have found when a circumstance, crisis, or day in general goes from bad to GRIM, I can usually conclude that God is in it. He’s getting my attention. There’s something He wants me to learn—while working all things together for my good, of course.
This was going to be one of those days.
Since I only had about an hour, I decided not to do my typical prayer walk route, but to go in a different direction through Petřín City Park. The area was heavily wooded, and the paved trail wound back and forth down a steep hill to the street below—close to where I was to rendezvous with Carolyn. Perfect.
I walked and prayed a good while—more absorbed in my supplication than my surroundings. About halfway down the hill, I suddenly looked up to see that a group of workers with their tree-trimming equipment had blocked the trail ahead of me. I didn’t want to turn around—I was running out of time—so I looked down the path through the trees and saw that it looped back just below me. I thought, It’s not far. I can just cut through the woods, and jump on the path again down there. Piece of cake.
As a kid, I grew up in the woods, so I wasn’t afraid to take the short cut. The ground was covered with dry-looking leaves that seemed oddly cushy under my boots. As I started through the woods, the decline seemed a little steeper than it looked at first, but I was convinced it was still doable. I ventured confidently onward.
The last few yards down to the lower trail were especially steep, and I soon discovered that the carpet of dry leaves was merely camouflage for a thick layer of unsteady muck lurking beneath. With the downward momentum that I’d already gained, there was no turning back. Suddenly, everything under my feet gave way like a sliding rug on a slippery floor—and I took to the air.
When I finally slid to a stop, I found myself face forward on my hands and knees. My immediate thought was, Did those workers hear my WHOOOAAA! as I pitched ungracefully down the hill? Would they now come running to my aid? GOD FORBID!
I managed somehow to get myself vertical again and survey the damage. I was unhurt, but my whole ensemble was slathered in slimy decaying forest litter. I tried to brush it off, but I had nothing left that was clean. My scarf, gloves AND hands were covered with mud—I only made things worse.
At that moment, I remembered my appointment. Uh-oh. I pawed through muddy layers to find my watch—I had thirty minutes until I was supposed to meet my friend at one of the busiest tram stops in Prague—and make a good impression. No chance of that. I had no time to go home and change—no number to reach Carolyn—and no cell phone to call her.
I straightened up with as much pluck as I could muster and walked stiffly out of the woods toward the street. I had to find the nearest phone booth to call my husband, explain my dilemma, and ask him to relay to Carolyn my humble apologies for missing our lunch date.
Okay, but I still had to get home. Back through the city by tram—then subway—then bus—and the four blocks’ walk to our house. Still covered in mud. I hoped to be rendered invisible, but I knew I wasn’t.
Standing on the busy tram platform, it wasn’t long before people started looking at me strangely. Their sidelong glances spoke anything but sympathy. I’m sure my face was as red as my hat. In fact, I was wishing I could pull that beret OVER my head—with a sign that said, “THIS WASN’T MY FAULT!”
One little grandma sat across from me on the tram, wordlessly looking me up and down. I didn’t know enough Czech to make even the lamest of explanations. I felt so conspicuous and foolish. All dressed up, with somewhere to go—and covered in filth. Bums and vagrants walk around with mud on their clothes—not respectable people. Not me.
It didn’t matter how it happened or how innocent my error in judgment. All during that embarrassing trip home, I couldn’t help but reflect, What was I thinking? What must others think? The fact was, I should have known better. My good judgment should have taught me not to take a chance like I did.
God—I know You’re in this. What are You trying to teach me?
The first lesson came almost immediately: this is how we appear to the world when we try to look righteous but then make careless choices. As Christians, we represent Jesus—as His ambassadors— twenty-four hours a day. The world often judges Him by what it sees in us. We may think we are carefully dressed in our own good intentions, but the reality may be something else.
“For all of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy garment.” (Isaiah 64:6 NAS)
Most people who witness our failures never stop to ask how innocently we stumbled. That’s why no short cut is worth the long memory of a wrong turn. No easy sin is ever as satisfying as keeping our garments clean.
“The man of integrity walks securely, but he who takes crooked paths will be found out.” (Proverbs 10:9)
That day God also reminded me of something else. I had chosen to leave the familiar path and venture into unfamiliar territory alone. Scripture repeatedly emphasizes the wisdom of both staying on God’s paths and walking with godly companions. Accountability and wise counsel often keep us from the very detours our own judgment might choose—but end in disaster.
The writer of Ecclesiastes said, “Two are better than one … but woe to him that is alone when he falleth, for he hath not another to help him up.” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 KJV)
God WAS in it. I learned a valuable lesson that day: an ounce of discretion at the right moment is worth its weight in gold. It keeps our garments clean, our reputation pure—and it certainly wears better than mud.
