There it was: an error in a book I’d proofread. And on the very first page, in the chapter heading! I was sick. I e-mailed my apologies to the publisher.
“Mistakes happen,” she answered. “You’re a great editor.”
I knew she was wrong. Was I losing my eye, my ability to spot errors?
“God, I know this is silly,” I prayed. “It’s one error. But I can’t stop thinking that I’m a total incompetent. Please help me understand the magnitude of my mistake.”
The next morning, I got onto my apartment building elevator. There was a man with a red-tipped white cane.
“I’m new here,” he said. “Would you walk with me to the subway?”
“Of course,” I said. “Just take my arm.”
We had a nice chat, then two blocks later, we were there.
“Thanks,” he said. “See you around the building.”
I took his hand and shook it.
“My pleasure. I’m Melanie.”
“Reinhart.”
Then it hit me. When I had prayed for perspective about my error, God had sent a man who relied on his memory, his remaining senses, and people’s kindness. I turned back.
“Reinhart?”
He turned his head. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
He smiled broadly. “You’re welcome.”
Beautiful!