ashes to ashes...

"What are you giving up for Lent?" my students banter amongst themselves. "Coke." "Mineral water." "Chocolate." And me? I've decided to give up my pride. I mean, do I really have a choice? I'm clunking around with a big ol' hunk of imperfection on my leg for all to see. A sign of my mortality, my limitation, my terrifying dependence on others around me. The ash on my forehead wears away in a matter of hours, but this leg? It will be reminding me every moment of every day for a long, long time.

It is so easy to get caught up in accomplishments, driven by goals, go to bed exhausted each night to wake up early and begin again the next day. Running an endless race. Proud when things go well, crushed when they don't. But a phrase keeps coming to mind. "It's not about me."

I'm not the one doing all this! Sometimes I fool myself into believing I have some modicum of control in the matter, but that usually doesn't last long. Life has a way of reminding me. And if I'm honest, I'd tell you, it's actually a relief. After weathering the customary panic attack, I enjoy falling again into the realization that I'm just an instrument on this earth. My only job to play the song given to me to the best of my ability. I enjoy stepping outside myself for a second and marveling at the masterpiece being played through me, through each one of us. Each of us playing a riff off the other. One day it might sound a little country, another kind of folksy, and maybe another with a touch of merengue... I just try to be true to the rhythm of the moment. Let it flow through me without going too far off key. Hold on to the spirit within that carries me through the ever changing melodies of each day. Sometimes I forge through, sometimes I dance, and sometimes I hobble. But it's not really about me.

Upside down flowers

When I was little there was a tapestry that hung on our wall that drove me crazy. It was huge. A lighthearted meadow scene with trees, woodland creatures, and an upside down flower... Sounds innocent enough, but there it was day in and day out. My eyes drawn to it every time I passed by with nothing I could do to fix it. It just taunted me. Almost perfect.

The story goes that Grandmom had left her needle in too long without working on it and it rusted. But instead of just giving up on it, or even covering it up skillfully, she memorialized the stain forever with an upside down flower.

Will I ever be so nonchalant about imperfection? Weave it seamlessly into the tapestry of my life as if it were part of the original design? I talk about it all the time. Hell, I have books on it, read whole theologies based on it. But here I am a month and a half into the new year and I'm already flat on my face with two of my three new year's resolutions and I can't help but feel the air knocked out of me. January completely slipped by without me writing my monthly gesture to this blog and I only played one soccer game before finding out I have a split tendon and am looking at three months of immobilization.

So I roll with the punches. Have a good laugh. But there's that upside down flower just staring at me every time I turn around. Why does it bother me so much?

I am blessed with an utterly amazing son, a stunning and strong young daughter, a gentle and understanding husband, and endlessly supportive family and friends. Why do I choose instead to see the unwashed dishes, the disorganized kitchen table, and unfolded laundry? Why do I focus on the unattained and possibly unattainable instead of wrapping myself up in the miracles all around me? Polo's going to be a US citizen for god sake! After 9 years of fighting...holding our breath, wondering, hoping, and pushing through. We'll never be forced apart again! My health has been given back to me. We have jobs and insurance. A cozy home to return to each night. Food in the fridge.

But it's never enough. There's always more. Things to tweak, things to dream of, things to improve. An ever elusive mirage like that infuriating line approaching infinity. You can't touch it or it would no longer be that which you seek. But it's immensity is overwhelming. Sometimes standing on the cliff's edge staring into the expanse comes in the form of a little flower...and mine just happens to be upside down.