An entire island has been washed away. Women are dying for the right to drive. Children are being born with preventable diseases, older adults are dying from abuse in places they call home, people are sleeping in the freezing cold, neighborhood are waking up to the sounds of gunfire…
Then, there is me. Sick with stress over whether I’ll be able to make it to therapy and a doctor’s appointment, stuck in two days of indecision involving organic coconut milk, and taking deep breaths (complete with eye rolls) when the babysitter isn’t available at the last minute.
I know there is no point to this game, that it’s more complicated than this, that, at least to some extent, we all live in the reality we were handed.
I also know that you are not a God who goes around spiritually slapping your high needs children and ordering us to snap out of it. You are firm in your patience and forgiveness of our craziness. You invite us to offer these things to others and ourselves.
For those of us who would much prefer this to involve some slapping, fill us with just enough steadiness that we can at least give the kinder and gentler thing a go.