Through the Looking Glass

I am, despite quite a lot of things, a woman of faith. I go to church, I'm kind of pagan too...like to think of myself as an Earth-Centered Catholic. But at the core of it all, deep down inside, I do believe in a God. Do believe in a kind of Universal Truth. Do see magic in the beauty of the world around us, and the spark of God in the eyes of each person I meet.

One thing that I've never really been able to believe in for myself is God sitting at a big desk, listening to our prayers on speaker phone and deciding which to answer based on some sort of Big Magic 8-Ball or something. I just don't think that God drags us around by a string, or makes things happen to fix our lives when they are a mess. What I do believe in though, are little nudges in the ribs, moments when He is standing behind us, coughing into His hand, saying "*ahem* I believe we've tried this lesson before young lady..."

Several times in the past few days, I've felt that nudge, heard that polite cough, and tried my best to ignore it. But it kept coming and coming and coming...and eventually I decided to listen.

This time, the lessons were several (and old, tired lessons they are--but apparently very difficult for me to learn and heed). The biggest being--It Is Not About You. Truly, life isn't about me...life is about living, and loving, and sharing and opening yourself. Life isn't or shouldn't be about stagnation, fear of pain and rejection, and holding myself so close, so tightly that my armor is inpenetrable.
Life is technicolor vivid, loud as a carnival, bright, scented, vibrating with passion and love. My life has often rolled by like a slow grey parade while I stayed shut up in the garrett of my mind watching through the shutters as it passed. Why? Because I have been wrapped up in ME for far too long. Too worried about me getting hurt, too worried about my feelings, about my ego, panicking and running from everything that made me the least uncomfortable, was difficult or painful.
I've been so convinced everything is about me that I couldn't open the window, can't open my arms, and my heart and give without worrying about what I'm going to get.

But that is no way to live. It is no way to love. And it is not at all submission. I need to give myself--my time, my service, my patience, my love, my trust and my very will to the one who loves me and cherishes me as his prized possession. He doesn't know all the answers, doesn't really know where we are going, isn't perfect, isn't infallible--but he loves me, and acts out of that love. In calling myself slave, in offering myself to him this way, I have to let him hold my hand to guide me. Sometimes it is going be uncomfortable, going to be difficult and hurt like hell, but out of that will come joy, peace and growth.

Sir, I am yours. There is no place I'd rather be, than kneeling at your feet, nothing I'd rather do than what is in service to you, nothing could make me happier than your pride in me. I am slave, You are Master, and I open my hands, and my heart for you to own.