47
I suppose this is how I am, knowing something else may be better, but doing it my way anyway. Maybe because my way is faster. I like fast. I take short-cuts.
But these are shaming statements and I’m tired of those. I am who I am, all of me, and it’s always about progress, not perfection. That’s what we say, and I mean it. I know that I know that I know that I have made progress and more progress and so have you, sometimes accidentally and sometimes intentionally and either way we are good.
What to think instead of the negative noticing I do of myself, and how to let go of beating myself up has been tricky for me, but here I am, 47 today, and I’m closer than I’ve ever been. I have been writing with a pen on paper to myself, from God. Well, I have done it twice now. I took the idea from Liz Gilbert. It’s the best writing prompt I’ve ever been given. It’s prayer. It’s the God of my understanding, using my hand and my pen and paper to tell me love stories.
This is something God wrote to me the other day:
Elsie told you about running the mile in phy-ed at school. She talked about the rules. “If you stop to walk at all you have to run the mile alone another day.” That made you sad. And this is it, right Heather Jo? It reminded you of this: The people of your religious tradition said RUN THE RACE and then watched each other get tired and screw up, so they made more rules. They said RUN THE RACE, and then they saw detours and short-cuts being taken by weary people trying to avoid punishment. These weary ones just needed help, to be allowed to walk when they grew tired, but instead more rules were made. Stern warnings were given. The story was told again and again, of how bad bad bad my people are.
Heath, I know you are running with all of your pain, your imperfections; what you think are faults. I watch you expect more, more, more of yourself, afraid of getting caught walking.
Dear one, you can stop now. That’s what I need you to know. You can walk the mile. You can crawl. Yes yes, you can even stop and sit in the grass. I’ll sit down next to you if you do. We will simply sit there side by side, and then I will remind you that being told to run the race with no real understanding of the point was the real problem. You were never the problem. All I ever wanted was for you to know my love, and live it into others. Mission accomplished. Carry on. Keep loving. Drink a glass of water. Take a nap. Make people laugh. Let go of what you aren’t able to be or do “right”, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here.
