when God gives too much

I told God this morning that He has given me too much.
That it is all just too much.

And make no mistake.  This was not a prayer of praise. I was not thanking God and praising Him for the air in my lungs, the sight in my eyes, or the gifts He has given only to me. This was a prayer of pissed off and doubt.

YOU have given me too much.
As in YOU made a mistake.
YOU clearly have no idea what you are doing.
You have got the wrong person in mind for all of this stuff you have given me.

And you know what set me off into this prayer of anger?
The power went out.
As I was blow drying my hair.
Yup.
It always comes down to our hair, doesn't it ladies?

Or our thighs.
Or our husbands.
Or our children.
Or our house.
Or our crappy furniture.
Or the piles of papers to be filed.
Or the bills.
Or the calendar of appointments.
Or the kid in trouble.
Or the other kid in real trouble.
Or the loneliness.
Or the hollowness.
The emptiness.
The drowning
The draught.
The noise.
The clock.
The time.
The fear.
The hard truth you can not stand to acknowledge.
The desire to not do His will because that work is painful and the narrow gate hurts.

I sat on my floor with wet hair and said out loud to God,
"You have given me too much."

And then Jay called. From Eversource.
He called to tell me I was the only house in my area that reported an outage.
In fact, I was the only one in CT that had reported an outage.
And most likely, the only woman yelling back at an automated voice---"I am missing Mass!!!! My hair is wet!!!!" (which, FYI, the computer does not understand anything besides "yes" or "no"...and takes you back to the beginning of the recording every time you yell, "Are you kidding me!???")
And could it be...that maybe...I just blew a fuse?
I assured him that every light was off and the power in the entire house was off and then I told Jay about my hair..and that I was missing Mass...and that probably, my whole life sucks now because of this.

But then I noticed.
The other lights were on.
And the digital clocks too.

I do not know for sure what happened, other than my chord was pulled, I was yanked to the floor, and I was reminded of where my true power source comes from.
And although my prayer to God was not the nicest...at least, I acknowledged Him.

Like the child who comes at the parent with complaint and argument when truthfully, the reason for their discomfort has nothing to do with the parent, but rather their own poor choice, so I come to Jesus.

I am the daughter that runs to her father quick to accuse, because deep down, she knows he is the only one who supply the comfort she needs.

I come to Him gratefully and I come to Him ungratefully, but regardless of the how, is this...I come to Him.
When I am undone, when I am buried, when I am powerless. She knows he can take it, and that he will never leave.

I turn to Him.
And he turns the power back on, just enough to get me standing, plenty to go about my day.

Maybe my problem is not about being given too much to do.
Maybe my problem is about taking on more than God asks of me.
Maybe my problem is in perfection and crossing off lists and getting everything right.
Maybe God does't expect half of what I expect of myself.

Father Dave Pivonka says, "Purgatory is full of people who did more than God asked of them."


Please Lord- open my eyes to what YOU want from me today...give me just enough...time..patience..work...keep me plugged into you, my true source of energy, the power I need. Amen.

when God gives too much

I told God this morning that He has given me too much.
That it is all just too much.

And make no mistake.  This was not a prayer of praise. I was not thanking God and praising Him for the air in my lungs, the sight in my eyes, or the gifts He has given only to me. This was a prayer of pissed off and doubt.

YOU have given me too much.
As in YOU made a mistake.
YOU clearly have no idea what you are doing.
You have got the wrong person in mind for all of this stuff you have given me.

And you know what set me off into this prayer of anger?
The power went out.
As I was blow drying my hair.
Yup.
It always comes down to our hair, doesn't it ladies?

Or our thighs.
Or our husbands.
Or our children.
Or our house.
Or our crappy furniture.
Or the piles of papers to be filed.
Or the bills.
Or the calendar of appointments.
Or the kid in trouble.
Or the other kid in real trouble.
Or the loneliness.
Or the hollowness.
The emptiness.
The drowning
The draught.
The noise.
The clock.
The time.
The fear.
The hard truth you can not stand to acknowledge.
The desire to not do His will because that work is painful and the narrow gate hurts.

I sat on my floor with wet hair and said out loud to God,
"You have given me too much."

And then Jay called. From Eversource.
He called to tell me I was the only house in my area that reported an outage.
In fact, I was the only one in CT that had reported an outage.
And most likely, the only woman yelling back at an automated voice---"I am missing Mass!!!! My hair is wet!!!!" (which, FYI, the computer does not understand anything because "yes" or "no"...and takes you back to the beginning of the recording every time you yell, "Are you kidding me!???")
And could it be...that maybe...I just blew a fuse?
I assured him that every light was off and the power in the entire house was off and then I told Jay about my hair..and that I was missing Mass...and that probably, my whole life sucks now because of this.

But then I noticed.
The other lights were on.
And the digital clocks too.

I do not know for sure what happened, other than my chord was pulled, I was yanked to the floor, and I was reminded of where my true power source comes from.
And although my prayer to God was not the nicest...at least, I acknowledged Him.

Like the child who comes at the parent with complaint and argument when truthfully, the reason for their discomfort has nothing to do with the parent, but rather their own poor choice, so I come to Jesus.

I come to Him gratefully and I come to Him ungratefully, but regardless of the how, is this...I come to Him.
When I am undone, when I am buried, when I am powerless.
I turn to Him.
And he turns the power back on, just enough to get me standing, plenty to go about my day.

Maybe my problem is not about being given too much to do.
Maybe my problem is about taking on more than God asks of me.
Maybe my problem is in perfection and crossing off lists and getting everything right.
Maybe God does't expect half of what I expect of myself?

Father Dave Pivonka says, "Purgatory is full of people who did more than God asked of them."


Please Lord- open my eyes to what YOU want from me today...give me just enough...time..patience..work...keep me plugged into you, my true source of energy, the power I need.

open your eyes and fly

I woke up to a blindside.
My Friday all alone, to get work done, and clean the house, and maybe...just maybe...do some writing...took a fast turn.
Two kids home from school for reasons one might consider medical, if they knew nothing about medicine...
two unruly dogs who like to bite my leg while I work...
and two birds that flew straight into my sliding glass door.
Which wasn't even clean.

These birds?
They completely derailed the day.
Because now I had birds to care for.
Two of them.

With a zip lock baggie over my hand and a large leaf in the other, I gently guided them into a Nike shoe box.
The dogs stood on the other side of the glass, licking their lips and wagging their tails.
A perfect target for a hungry beast- the lame, the paralyzed, the hurting, the too frightened to make a move.

And so I carefully carried the shoe box into my laundry room, and set them on top of the dryer.
I sprinkled bird food at their feet and held up sunflower seeds to their tiny beaks.  Beaks, that up close, truly looked like they could poke my eye out at any given moment.
One bird managed to stand, but kept his eyes shut.
The other stayed on his side, until finally, was able to prop himself up on his skinny sticks for legs.
I talked to them.
I took their pictures.
I promised they would be ok.
Then I screamed.
Because one started to fly and I knew it was going straight for my eye.

It landed on my door.
The other flew out of the box and landed on a laundry bag.
Two kids home.
Two dogs barking.
And now two birds flying...in my house.

And how does this end?
Well.
In their own time, they flew away to a nearby tree.
But it was the hour before they flew that amazed me.
These birds barely moved.
Were they stunned by the hit?
Were they afraid of me, their rescuer?
Were they injured?
Were they confused?

I kept careful watch....checking on them every now and then.
I knew they were vulnerable, and that the one...his eyes...they were still shut...and I know all too well what can happen when you are vulnerable with eyes closed:
the hungry beast comes to devour.

I remember being motionless.
Sitting on my bathroom floor.
Stunned.
Afraid.
Injured.
And confused.
The perfect target for the evil one.
And it was in that place that I was taught a very hard, but very important lesson.
It was in that place that I heard His voice.
Be still.
Just be still.
Feel your sadness.
Feel your pain.
Do not run from it.
Rest in it.
I have come to save you.

And I promise. I won't poke your eyes out.
Ok.
I didn't hear that.
But truth be told, I was given new eyes.
So maybe He did poke my eyes out, to make way for the new ones.

But the birds.
And the lesson I was reminded of.

No matter how hard the hit, we will fly again.
Clipped wings grow stronger.
We soar like never before.
We open our eyes.

We open our eyes and we fly.