Alcohol-Free Diary

Since the beginning of 2024, I’ve been cheering myself along, jotting down thoughts in connection to my relationship with alcohol. It all started with Dry January. Some may think that sharing my personal diary is a bad idea, but sharing my truth takes courage, and vulnerability connects us, so I have no shame. We’re all human. I started the year strong, slipped into a slump, and began again. Perhaps you’ll find something here that helps you with a journey of your own.

January 1

I almost justified drinking today because it’s a holiday, but the thoughts were fleeting. Day 1 down.

January 6

I’m 54. Outside of two pregnancies, this is my fourth alcohol free month (non-consecutive) since age 18. I started Reframe (an app to help me decrease alcohol consumption) in November on the cutback plan, without success. I gave up through the holidays and planned for Dry January. This is the first time I haven’t had cravings. I’ve been praying for myself (another breakthrough for me), and it works.

January 7

About 4 months ago, I started a dance class that includes some yoga, martial arts, mindfulness, and joy. I always leave feeling strong and centered. There are only three classes per week, one on Sunday, so I was headed there this morning. But—I had a flat tire before leaving my neighborhood. Muah. Muah. ☹️

I returned home disappointed and opted for online church. It was a message on changing your life by changing your habits. (Click HERE to view.)

No matter what you believe, there is good common sense in this message. And I’ve had some divine help over the past 7 days. Peace and hope for the journey.

January 9

9 Days. My longest AF (Alcohol Free) streak since April 2020. I began mental preparation for January back in November when I gave up tracking my drinks. I started 2024 believing in the following:

the power of intention
do-overs
progress over perfection
kindness and compassion for self and others
one day at a time
asking God for help with all of the above

January 11

In August 2022, I was diagnosed with Stage 1 breast cancer found through a routine mammogram. I was lucky we found it early, and it’s gone now (or so I thought on January 11).

Anyway, that’s when I became aware of the CDC’s (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention) guidelines for alcohol. One drink or less in a day for women. Two for men. “Ridiculous,” I thought.

After unsuccessfully trying to cut back, I said to myself, “Crystal, you are the ridiculous one. You only have one body. Why not treat it with tender-loving care?” It took me 54 years to realize none is easier than one (at least for me), and I became sober curious. I found myself asking God for help. And lo and behold, I feel the divine help. I’m not ready to resolve that I will never have another drink, but I intend to keep praying for myself. So far. So good. I believe in one day at a time.

January 12

I heard on the radio this morning that the end of the second week in January is called Quitter Day. Statistically more people give up their goals today. If you remain alcohol free (or persist with any goal), you are officially among the elite.

January 13

Checked into a hotel for a Girls Weekend with friends. I was offered complimentary champagne or water, and I chose water.

January 15

“The power of intention is so doubt-deficient that when you’re connected to it you see what you’d like to have as already being present.”
Dr. Wayne Dyer

January 17

This past weekend, my lifelong friend Pamela was visiting from out of town. We attended Lakewood Church on Sunday.

Joel Osteen said, “Write your vision. Back it up with scripture.”

So here it goes:

I live a sober life that brings me clarity, health, peace, hope, joy, and love.

“‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’”
Jeremiah 29:11

Bring it, Day 17.

January 19

Weirdly I haven’t had many cravings. But—it’s Friday, so close to 5, and my husband has a drink in hand. 😳 I grabbed a LaCroix and squeezed a lime. It’s quite refreshing. 0 calories. 0 alcohol.

January 21

This morning I’m thankful for reframed perspectives, 3-weeks AF, and for the first time ever, this budding idea of a permanent change to my relationship with alcohol.

January 24

I attended a meeting on the app today and heard this:

“Progress over punishment.”

January 26

“Today is a gift and miracles are manifesting.” (Click HERE for more affirmations.)

January 29

This morning I’m reading The Untethered Soul (spiritual nonfiction) by Michael A. Singer. He says the mind is “very melodramatic (😂) … Just decide that no matter what the mind says, you aren’t getting involved.”

January 30

I always gain weight through the holidays. I. Just. Do.

But—so many of those calories are from drinking. I’m officially down 8 pounds and ready for Day 31. Then Day 32.

February 3

My dance class moved to a new bigger studio in January with many spaces and options. I bought a pass for unlimited classes in February. Today’s attempt: aerial conditioning.

It. Was. Hard.

The students and teacher were all 20-30 years younger than me. But I hung in there. Pun intended.

February 8

“The genius thing we did was, we didn’t give up.”
Jay Z

February 9

Do you know what the best exercise is?

Wait for it…

The one you will do.

This morning on my way home from my 8th dance class in 8 days, I was thinking back to 2019 when I was going to Boxing and Kickboxing classes. Kody wanted us to do this “together.” Guess who went most often. 🙋‍♀️ I shaped up but not joyfully. Wrapping my fists and wearing gloves was not my journey, and I’m thankful to find my own path. 40 days sober.

February 10

My dad says this about cigarettes, but it applies here:

“I was really good at quitting. I quit all the time.”

Every quit—even after a slip—strengthens those neural pathways. Day 41 alcohol free and working on me.

February 11

I realize life will always have ups and downs, but I’ve come to a place where whatever happens, it will be okay.

I’ve heard a Kristin Neff meditation twice now on Reframe where she encourages us to talk to ourselves like this:

This is hard right now,

but everyone goes through hard things.

May I be happy and well and kind to myself.

February 19

Celebrating Day 50! Woot Woot! 👏🏻

February 26

When 2024 started, I planned on Dry January, which morphed into AF February. March is still a maybe. As for Day 57, I will not drink with you.

The days add up. One at a time.

March 17

While a bit disappointed in my March non-drinking statistics, my reframed thought is…

I’m super excited to have 64 dry days in 2024. That. Is. progress.

April 5

2024 was off to the best start. 60 days AF until March 1. Then I struggled. Two vacations and a surgery in one month is atypical. Starting again. 67 days alcohol free today.

April 8

70 AF days out of 99 in 2024. That’s statistically better than any other year this century.

Progress.

One. Day. At. A. Time.

April 11

7 sober days in a row and more in April than all of March.

Celebrating the milestones. Warrior-ing on.

*****

My Take-Aways

I had some recent blood work. In comparison to previous labs, the tests show marked improvement, so there’s that.

In my down time and 73 extra days of clarity, I’ve contemplated self-kindness and concluded that it’s a combination of nurturing my body, mind, and spirit.

I’ve contemplated what it means to nurture the body and concluded it’s about exercise, nutrition, and hydration.

I’ve contemplated what it means to nurture the mind and concluded that it’s about surrounding myself with what lifts me up—people and podcasts, reading and music, sunshine and the great outdoors. It’s about living in the moment without dwelling on the past or worrying about the future. It’s about letting go of judgments, thoughts, and emotions that do not serve me.

I’ve contemplated what it means to nurture the spirit and concluded that it’s about spending time with God, meditating in gratitude, and loving and forgiving myself and others.

I’m on a journey to inner peace, healing, and wellbeing, advancing confidently in the direction of my dreams.

Thank you for reading and sharing my experience. I send extra love.

Be Someone II

There’s an iconic sign on a railroad overpass just north of downtown Houston. It says…

*Courtesy of* https://www.besomeoneco.com/store/

I often think about what that means.

There’s an iconic Xeroxed copy of my 10-year-old face tucked away in a long-forgotten cardboard box. Lucky for 54-year-old me, I have the digital image. I often think about that little girl. Clearly, she has always wished for me to be unapologetically me…

That little girl inside me long ago learned the power of visualization. Inside our head, we saw the roundoff back handsprings and the back flips before we made it happen. That little girl is alive and well. She reminds me of the magic of vision and dreams. She wishes me a life lived to the fullest and says, “Let go of the past and step into who we’re becoming—wiser and kinder and stronger.” She nudges me to forgive those who hurt me and wish them well. She roots for me to be an example of what is possible and cherish every moment.

Perhaps being someone is about embracing, trusting, and standing up for our authentic self, speaking our truth, aging gracefully, walking our unique path, sharing our gifts, taking care of our needs—body, mind, and spirit—believing and dreaming, learning and growing, carrying an abundance of love, seeking the good in others, understanding that humans have faults. These are the things I’m learning at age 54 and somehow the things I’ve always known.

Flawed But Trying: A Repost

It was six years ago—my sixth post, in fact. I sought it out, and suddenly, I was tweaking words and sentences and details. And then—re-posting.

Flawed But Trying

Beauty in the Imperfection

On 11/11, Kody swept me away to Galveston for opening weekend of the beach side boutique Hotel Lucine. We discovered it when the owner/chef of our favorite fish taco shop forever closed her doors and announced that she would be joining the kitchen at the new hotel nearby. Originally built in the 1960s as Treasure Isle Motel, there was something metaphorical and magical about new beginnings, about taking something old and making it beautiful, and about the twelfth anniversary of our second marriage.

Photo courtesy of https://www.hotellucine.com/

The celebration started a little rough, as sometimes happens in life. There was no reservation under Byers, and Kody hadn’t received e-mail confirmation. No big deal. They had extra rooms, the receptionist eventually found the reservation under Kody Kody, and we all had a jolly laugh. Sadly, their restaurant, The Fancy, would not open for a few more days, but the kitchen was serving a limited menu in The Den. Another save. After the cheeseburgers we eventually devoured, we will be back.

In the room, a cute note awaited Kody and Kody, LOL, and some gifts for us. True to mid-century style, the room was spare with no chairs. The window overlooked the balcony, sans patio. Possibly an opening weekend oversight, there was an ice bucket but no glasses. Disappointing but fixable things.

I’ll take responsibility for the wine fail. In a rush to lighten the mood, I broke the cork. The lower half plopped into our nice anniversary bottle and floated. Instead of sitting on the bed and passing our pinot noir back and forth, I dashed down the stairs, past the pool, back inside to the bar, and asked for glasses. Now we could properly toast the day.

Next, Kody returned to the lobby for the purpose of a room change, a room with a patio—and chairs—overlooking the mid-mod courtyard pool. Not a problem. After schlepping our things around the corner and settling in a few doors away, the celebration commenced. We imbibed, turned up the music, and snapped some photos for proof of good cheer.

The sky transformed with the day from overcast grey to royal blue, stunning sapphire to a velvety navy, the beginning of something beautiful.

And the best part? On November 25th, we’ll celebrate our 34th anniversary of our first marriage. 37 years of togetherness, counting those years of courtship. 39 if you count the friendship. We’ve endured epic break ups and miraculous make ups. We’ve practiced, sometimes with reluctance, grace and gratitude…faith and forgiveness…peace and perseverance…and eternal hope. Nothing is perfect, but there’s beauty in the imperfection. Sometimes you must look and behold the transformation.

Hot Cross Buns

When I was in the second grade, my music teacher introduced our class to a plastic wind instrument called the recorder. We each received our own in a bag to take home and practice and keep forever.

My friend Robyn, a tall, quiet blonde with good grades, lived up the street and around the corner. One day she invited me to her house for after-school practice. This is where the details become a bit fuzzy. After playing “Hot Cross Buns” an indefinite number of times, I clearly remember wielding my recorder like a weapon, completely unprovoked, and cracking my friend on the top of her blonde head. Hard. From the bedroom doorway, I heard a gasp and turned to see Robyn’s older sister, eyes wide and jaw dropped.

End scene.

I can only imagine Robyn’s sister saying, “Crystal, I think it’s time for you to go home.” I don’t think Robyn cried. I don’t think anyone reported me to Robyn’s mother. I don’t remember saying, “I’m sorry.” I do remember Robyn eventually moving to Texas and losing track of her over time.

In 2009, I found Robyn on Facebook and apologized for the time, forty years earlier, I hit her over the head with my recorder. I’m not sure she remembered, my apology now another distant recollection. Why had this brief memory haunted me through the years? I’m quite sure I was even meaner to my brother when we were kids, but that was mostly retaliation.

Humans are imperfect. We randomly act without thinking and hurt others without malicious intent. We often beat ourselves up for mishandled situations while judging others for their shortcomings. At other times, we don’t own up to our own roles in our own dramas. Life is complicated. Apologies, forgiveness, and understanding are not exactly simple. Sometimes, however, we owe ourselves peace. ‘Tis the season.

A Morning Walk and Deep Thoughts

It’s a typical weekday. I’m walking the street behind my home before 8 am. On a two-story, brick house, a colorful flag, rainbow-striped, lifts in the breeze. I haven’t noticed it before. “NUMAH,” it reads. At least, that’s how I sound it out before realization dawns. I see the flag’s backside, the word backwards. “How often do we see things backwards? Misunderstand? Fail to notice?” I say to myself.

With the upcoming school year, I ponder these thoughts for days. “We’re all HUMAN–I think that’s the point–just trying to make our way. Not one in 7.9 billion is perfect.”

I remember a billboard I once saw.

I remember a saying I’ve heard.

Tag. You’re it. Pass it on.

That Time I Quit Drinking Coffee

It was May 1, 2020. I had returned from my morning walk. I took off my sweaty clothes, turned on the shower, and stepped naked on to the scale. I was down five pounds to my pre-Covid-19 weight. You might think I would be thrilled. The problem was I had been tracking my steps on my phone during April and came across my weight from August of 2019. Ten months ago, after seven months of consistent boxing and kickboxing, I weighed thirteen pounds lighter. In August, I gave up the boxing gym.

In May, I decided to give up coffee.

Here’s the thing. I normally do not drink coffee every morning, but Kody does. He drinks his coffee in the office, but—since he’s working from home, coffee has become part of our morning routine. He drinks his black. I drink mine blonde. You know—with cream. And honey. It’s decadent.

After my shower last Friday, I made myself a large glass of iced tea. Unsweetened. I was parched. The tea quenched. This is good, I thought. I can do this.

Saturday rolled around. I rolled out of bed and went for my walk. On arrival home and through my front door, I smelled the aroma of good coffee, medium roast Texas pecan, 100% Arabica from our local HEB. I thought, Maybe I can make an exception, just on the weekends. This time, we were out of cream. I opted for vanilla almond milk. Even lighter, I thought. And then that little devil on my shoulder whispered, “What the heck—it’s the weekend. Indulge.” I added a shot of bourbon.

Sunday was similar. Except no walk and no almond milk. Instead I Googled Chase Oaks Church on my phone, connected my device to the television for the April 26th sermon “When Life Seems Out of Control,” and sipped my coffee. Black. With Bourbon. Dear Lord, please don’t judge. We are amid a pandemic.

Monday rolled around. I walked again. I re-entered my home. Damn that coffee. After a weekend expedition for groceries, I had cream once more. I give up. I’m keeping up my walks—thirty minutes a day is my minimum. If it’s cool enough, forty-five minutes to an hour. Fewer carbs. More self-control. That’s my plan.

And so I quit drinking coffee—for a day. A pandemic calls for comforts, I decided. I’m okay with changing my mind.

I look forward to A 2nd Cup, 1111 E. 11th Street, Houston, Texas.

Lifted Lines

Last Sunday I drove southwest on 59 from my home in southwest Houston into the suburbs, almost into the country. In Richmond, I exited the freeway and turned right, down a paved road, another right into a dirt parking lot. The gravel crunched beneath my tires, and I found a spot near a chicken coop. Through the poultry netting and in addition to chickens, I discovered peacocks. On the other side of the coop, sunlight shone down on baby goats with their mothers. Beyond all of that lies a beautiful lake with ducks on the water and then River Pointe Church.

I always say, “You can choose HOPE, or not.” And churches and cathedrals, temples and holy places, farm animals and wide open spaces give me HOPE. I find God in these places—and myself, like the me I hope to be.

Life is heavy. I don’t believe any of us are exempt from challenges, but I do believe in the power of prayer. I keep a list of friends and family in my prayers for surgeries and illnesses, dependencies and dysfunctional relationships, the trials of life and inevitable death.

I believe in the power of believing, and I believe in the power of words. Sometimes the wrong words and the wrong beliefs become trapped inside our heads. That’s when I like to have an arsenal of the right words and the right beliefs. I lifted some lines from church last week—for my arsenal—because they lifted me:

Nothing has been wasted, no failure or mistake.
When I doubt it, remind me I’m wonderfully made.

When the world starts to blur and your soul feels heavy,
know that you’re loved.

It’s gonna be alright.
It’s gonna be okay.

We often believe that admitting we’ve failed makes us less Christian.
Confession makes us more Christian.

“Therefore, confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective” (James 5:16)

If the words above don’t lift you, go find words that do and places that do and people who do. You don’t have to believe everything you think, especially the bad stuff. And if you find yourself dwelling in the negative, find a new place to dwell.

Sidenote: A couple of weeks ago the pastor challenged us to read Samuel 1 and 2. These books contain the history of Israel leading into the story of David, as in the chosen-by-God David, who slayed the giant Goliath with his unwavering belief and a single stone. This same David later became king and committed adultery with Bathsheba who became pregnant. King David had Bathsheba’s husband murdered to cover up the sin. The sequence of events displeased the Lord, but King David confessed, and the Lord forgave.

Now, I am no bible scholar, and I don’t understand all of the wartime killing and all of David’s wives and concubines in the context of the Ten Commandments. What truly displeased the Lord was that King David took something that didn’t belong to him amidst everything he already had. Based on this temptation, David is probably the most relatable character in the Bible. (Hello, my name is human.) If an adulterer and a murderer can be forgiven, well then, there’s hope for you and me.

Confession to God grants us forgiveness. Confession to one another makes us whole.

The Tip of the Iceberg

I look at my reflection in the mirror this morning and notice my throat splotching red. But I teach school, and school’s out for summer. I shouldn’t have one iota of stress. I stop for a moment to consider my thoughts. You know those thoughts, the ones you can’t shake?

Present thought—the iceberg. You know, the whole picture—the tip of the iceberg you see above the surface and the huge mass you see below. It’s like how you know a person based on what you see, but you can’t see past the surface, or maybe you can see just below the surface but not too much deeper without asking some heavy questions. When I started Googling images to illustrate this fuzzy point in my head, I stumbled onto Freud’s iceberg theory, and he said exactly what was on my mind. Weird, right? My brain forgets so much these days. I know the theory. I just didn’t remember that Freud fathered it. Anywho, I studied a bit and hope someone else might find the information helpful.

According to Sigmund Freud, the founder of psychoanalytic theory, the mind can be divided into three separate parts with varying purposes:

The conscious part includes what we can sense in the moment—thoughts, memories, feelings, and wishes.
The preconscious part consists of memories we can pull into our conscious on cue for a specific purpose. For example, you walk into a restaurant to have lunch with a friend, peruse the menu, and say, “What do you like here?” Looking at the menu will prompt your friend to remember.
The unconscious part comprises the bulk of our minds—unpleasant or unacceptable thoughts, memories, habits, urges, reactions, and feelings outside the realm of our conscious awareness, such as anxiety and shame, conflict and broken hearts.

Image courtesy of https://www.verywellmind.com/what-is-the-unconscious-2796004

Freud compared the levels of the mind to an iceberg. Above the surface, you see the tip of the iceberg representing the conscious. Below the water, observable at surface level is the preconscious. The massive part of the iceberg extending too deep to be visible represents the unconscious. According to Freud, the unconscious mind affects our behavior and experiences without our awareness or understanding. We all have a storehouse of memories and emotions that we push down deep to forget. Verywellmind.com explains it all very well and dedicates a whole page to psychotherapy. It has been shown that continued self-examination leads to emotional growth over time, and I’m all for growth of any kind.

So as my throat splotches red and I contemplate why people (including myself) do what they do and say what they say and make the same mistakes over and over, the answer according to Freud is pretty simple after all.

Cheaters

The winter break approached, exam stress visible on the faces of the students. Of my four sections of Advanced Placement Language and Composition, one class tested Monday, one on Tuesday, one Wednesday, and one Thursday. On my white board I wrote: Happy Holidays! Do your best! Be your Best! The underlying message—Don’t Cheat! I would be naive to believe that students wouldn’t try. Yet I want to trust them, really I do.

Monday’s scores were consistent with student averages and other tests taken throughout the semester. Tuesday’s test had two paradoxically high scores, but the students missed different questions, so I didn’t think too much about it as I was still grading my brains out with essays, which would comprise 50% of test scores. By Wednesday after walking in on five girls just hanging out in my office, which connects to two other classrooms besides mine, I knew in my gut that my test had been compromised. There was nothing I could do in the minutes leading up to the test that day.

After passing out Wednesday’s exam, I noted the darting glances from “Felicia.” Every time I looked at her, she met my gaze, and even though this test consists of reading passages and comprehension, “Felicia” failed to even fake read as she bubbled her answers. I monitored like a hawk. She wasn’t copying off of anyone. However, after tests were submitted, I discovered four more inconsistent scores including Bad Faker “Felicia” and three of her friends who had seemingly coordinated well enough to miss different answers.

So (1) there was the situation with unsupervised students in the office where tests were not visible but also not under lock and key. And (2) I did not physically collect phones or Apple watches during this testing season though none were visible. And (3) normally I give more than one version of any test, but this time, with keys having to be entered into an unfamiliar computer system and too much to do and too little time, I did not. This time I stapled a cover sheet on top that either said Form A or Form B and copied Form A in white, Form B green. Lame, I now know.

So on Wednesday after school with one semester exam to go, I assembled a new test and made copies with the same cover sheet, Form A in white and a green Form B.

Before the test on Thursday, I made eye contact with every single student as I handed out scantrons. To each one of them, I said something like, “Good luck today” or “May the force be with you” or “I’m thinking of you as you test today.” Some of them probably thought/think I’m creepy, but most of them were amused. I added a new note to my white board next to Be Your Best—No Cheating. Before distributing tests, I didn’t mention anything about the suspected cheaters or the new test, I just said, “It’s been my pleasure to be your teacher this year.”

“What? Aren’t you coming back?” they asked.

“Of course, I mean, 2018 has been great, and I’ll see you next year. I hope you all have a wonderful break. Are you ready? Do your best! Please keep your eyes on your own test and keep your answers covered.” Then I passed out the test and proceeded to walk up and down the aisles for two hours.

Immediately I recognized two scantrons with the same bubble pattern—A, B, B, D—the answers from the original exam. These two students weren’t even trying to read and see if those answer choices made sense, and they weren’t keeping their answers covered either. However, I had left one clue that this test was different. The first test had 37 questions, and this one had 39. I kept my eyes on the two, and about an hour into the test they both exuded an air of defeat—heavy exhales, eyes rolling, corners of mouths turned inconsolably down.

Fast forward to the scantron machine that sounded off like a machine gun and left six scantrons bleeding red. Six. Six students had stuck to the familiar A, B, B, D pattern, their scores to the tune of 10-20%.

Skip ahead once more past me telling some co-workers and my dean. Our math teacher had a similar cheating scandal, and I heard many a conflicting opinion on dealing with my cheaters. If I gave these six kids zeroes, they would all fail for the semester, and six more whom I suspect also cheated, but couldn’t outright accuse, would get away with it. If I gave my little cheaters their 10-20% and averaged that score with their essay scores, they will still pass for the semester. The math teacher and I both entered zeroes into our grade books and left the school that Friday, December 21 for a two-week respite. Grades would not be officially due until our January return.

In the meantime, I’ve reflected on the times I’ve cheated in life. I remember my freshman year, still in junior high. It was just math homework. I’m sure I was too busy with my ninth-grade life to worry about school, so I borrowed the homework of a very smart, kind, and well-respected friend who had diligently completed hers and whose name I will protect to this day. I proceeded to copy her assignment in my history class, and my teacher Mr. Watkins, also the dad of one of my classmates, walked over to my desk, picked up both papers, scrutinized the names, and handed them back to me without saying a word. And I felt ashamed of myself. That’s not to say that I didn’t find a way to cheat my way through business calculus in college, and I don’t relay my own dishonesty with pride.

I say this to illustrate the imperfection of humanity. I realize that the pot should not call the kettle black, and I ask myself, “What would Jesus do?”

I remember the story of a prostitute kissing the feet of Jesus and anointing them with perfume and her own tears and wiping them with her own hair.

I remember Simon saying, “If this man were a prophet, he would know this woman was a sinner.”

I remember Jesus saying to the woman, “Your sins are forgiven…go in peace.”

(It’s all in Luke 7:36-50 with a powerful parable in between*).

There will always be Simons who say, “Let them fail. Teach them a lesson.”

There will always be Jesuses and Mr. Watkinses who teach lessons in other ways.

There will always be people, like me, who choose wrong from time to time, but continue to try to be better than who they were before. Isn’t that what we all do in January? Resolve to be our best selves?

When I go back to school, I’ll give my students credit for their essays and say little, maybe even nothing like Mr. Watkins, and like Jesus, I’ll forgive with grace and peace for new beginnings in the new year.

**************

*Luke 7:40-43, New International Version, biblegateway.com

⁴⁰Jesus answered him, “Simon, I have something to tell you.”

“Tell me, teacher,” he said.

⁴¹“Two people owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. ⁴²Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he forgave the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?”

⁴³Simon replied, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt forgiven.”

“You have judged correctly,” Jesus said.