God doesn’t make mistakes
I notice that I get angry when I don’t know how to do something perfectly: learning to ride the motorcycle, fixing the printer at work, living in my marriage, being a mother, being a Gramma, doing Al-Anon, EATING to be healthy.
I can’t be stupid. I have to know or they’ll get mad. If I don’t know, I’ll get beaten until I do.
I have to be perfect. All-knowing, responsible for everyone or everything. It’s my fault when things go wrong. It’s my fault when things aren’t right. It’s my fault when you’re mad or angry or annoyed or upset.
If I don’t get it perfect now and now and now, I’ve failed. I’m nothing. I’m no good. I’m worthless. I’m annoyed, I’m wrong, fundamentally wrong. I’m unlovable.
I get frustrated, very angry at me. I stuff it inside by eating or by breathing deep breaths so it won’t come out or make the situation worse.
My life is blah. I don’t do anything new. I don’t try anything new. I play the same level of solitaire over and over, never moving to the next level; never mastering the next level because it’s too hard and at the first sign of it’s not perfect, I bail. I abandon me. I abandon whatever I’m doing and run like hell. Inside, outside, into food, into anger, into despair. Anything so I don’t have to feel that horrible dejection that I never get it right now and now and now.
And as I become willing to sit in the yuckie feelings of not good enough, wrong, never be perfect; I feel churning sensations begin to build from deep within my stomach, my chest becomes tight as my breathing becomes shallow, like I almost have to hold my breath. Tears begin to flow as I get a picture of my Little One at about 3 years old. Obviously she’s done something horribly wrong – spilt her milk, didn’t wipe her hinnie, burped out loud? Something horrible. She’s standing all alone carrying the weight of the whole world on her tiny shoulders. Nobody likes her; everybody’s yelled at her and then left her all alone. They’re all mad and now they’re all gone. She knows not to cry. Don’t you dare cry; you know what happens when you cry. You’d better get it right this time little missie or you’ll get something to cry about.
As the memories well up, I let them pass thru. I gather my little one dearly to me and let her cry her fill. I hold her in tender loving care and let her know how exquisite she really is, how brave, how loyal, how true. I let my feelings of tenderness and knowing merge with her as we become one. Then, and only then does the dawning truth emerge from deep within my soul…
I am perfect exactly as I am right here, right now, in this moment and this one and this one.
Nothing’s wrong! Nothing’s wrong with Me. Nothing’s wrong with you, with this situation, this moment, this life. God’s in charge and He’s got my back. I’m in His Hands and He loves me Exactly as I am. God doesn’t make junk. God doesn’t make mistakes. I’m not a mistake. I am a greater purpose in the Grande Design. [2.8.14]