God in Me. God in You, You, You, and You Too.

On Sunday, my daughter got on a plane and flew to the other side of the country. This is the farthest she has ever been away from me. She’s never flown without me. The last time we were this far apart, I was in Las Vegas, and she was reading Harry Potter. That was nine years and one child ago. My reason for sharing that is: My world is a bit off-kilter, and I am using that as an excuse for bad skin, unexplained crying, crappy eating, not working out, and this is starting to sound a lot like pms…

Anyway, that wasn’t my point for writing. My point was this: I have been reading this awesome series (and if you have a penchant for self-awareness or just appreciate great writing, you should read it as well) and every day little granules of truth plunk me in the head.

Most recently I’ve been overthinking how we all process the same things so very differently. In my family of origin, if you ask each of us to describe the same event, you’d get five different stories. When my other two brothers were alive, their stories would be different still. Add in my parents’ views and you’d have even more. Each person firmly believes his or her version is the truth. Many of them were the hero in their version. But, it’s kind of like this:

Remember the time:
No, that’s not how it happened. It was like this…
OHHHH yeah, but then you said…
No, that’s close, but I said…
You did not…
She wasn’t even there…
Were you even there?
Oh, I remember, we were having Neopolitan dinner dish…

Even though we experienced a lot of the same things (we all lost our brothers and our dad), each of us walked away–except the two who didn’t–with different scars, stories, and memories. A few weeks ago one sibling summed up another sibling’s behavior with, “That’s just how he processed the shit that happened to us. We all dealt with it differently.”

I recently read Carry On, Warrior, and my biggest take away was her description of “Namaste,” acknowledging that the divine in us recognizes the divine in those we meet. That was bigger than a granule, it was like a rock on the head. God in me; God in you.

Ughhhhhh…we all process it differently…we all have the same God in us…My daughter’s on the other side of the world, and I have pms, OBVIOUSLY…

God is in my brother. He is in my mom. He is in that person who annoys the CRAP out of you. He is in the guy who cut you off in traffic. I’m not entirely convinced that there is the same amount of God in everyone…I’m kidding; calm down. God is in the Fed Ex driver that can’t find my house–dude…really? God is in the union guy that calls my husband at 1:00 a.m. and drags him out of our warm bed. He is in your boss. He is in the four disgruntled old ladies who complain the entire time in line. He’s in your kids. He’s in your mother in law. He’s in that homeless man, and you walked to the other side of the street to avoid him.

It is not my job to fix you, nor are you called to fix me. I may not change the world, but I can love and accept you and me as God loves and accepts us both. We might never be best friends, but I will see past your humanness and look for your divinity. Today my prayer is to step out of my own way as the divine in me reaches out to the divine in you.

More Martha than Mary

Last week, my husband and I were in a bad place. A rut. We were out of sync. This happens from time to time, sometimes during one of our MEN-strual cycles. I’m just saying. The word MEN in right there. I am fully aware of mine, and the others in the house are alerted to it by an increase in screaming, door slamming, chocolate in the pantry. Because if you can’t climb out of your rut, the next best idea is to fill it with food.

The food doesn’t help, as if I needed to say that out loud. What does help is having a co-conspirator in Pittsburgh who runs on the same cycle. Usually one of us is able to talk the other one down from a ledge with a gentle reminder that this rage could be hormone-related. That reminder, however, is punishable by death if issued from a man’s lips.

Back to the rut. In this rut, I can’t function. Brad, when we are in a rut, doesn’t look at me. It bothers me when people don’t look at me. I think that if I were ever to be tortured for information, withholding eye contact might be an effective technique. Just to clarify, you can pretty much just ask me anything, and I’ll tell you. Unless it’s someone else’s secret, I keep those. But I won’t look at you if I’m keeping a secret. Now, if you’re my husband–or anyone reading this–you now know that if I don’t look at you, I’m protecting something. Sometimes, it’s my heart, but sometimes it’s something that belongs to someone else.

I give so much away through my eyes so if I don’t look at someone, it’s intentional. I might not trust them. I might think they wish me ill. Or I might be afraid to let them see into my soul for fear they might use that information in bad ways. And sometimes, I’m afraid that if someone looks at me, they will see someone else’s secrets that I’m keeping. This happens pretty rarely. Usually, I look so deeply into people’s eyes that they are uncomfortable and look away. Then, I begin to wonder what they have to hide. Because, I assume that like me, if you avoid eye contact you must be hiding something.

All of this brings me back to the same lesson: Just because people don’t do things the same way I do them doesn’t mean that they’re wrong, and I’m right. God reinforces that all the time. Last week, my pastor said to view people as “works in progress,” and that resonated with me not only about others but also about myself. Then, listening to my favorite online preacher, I was reminded of the story of Mary and Martha. (Martha was mad that she was cleaning and cooking, while Mary sat and listened to Jesus. Martha wanted Jesus to make Mary help her, but Jesus told Martha maybe she should check her priorities.) I can identify with Martha, because a lot of times I serve begrudgingly rather than humbly.

Today, we are out of our rut and analyzing how we got there and how not to get there again. Today, I’m cleansing the salt, sugar, and other toxins I overindulged in the last few days. Today, I am asking God to help me see with His eyes. Today, instead of beating myself up, I’m embracing the fact that I am a work in progress.