God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.
The Serenity Prayer was inscribed in gilded letters on a plate that hung in my grandmother's kitchen when I was a little girl. I never put too much thought into it. It was just gaudy old-lady deco (sorry, Grandma) that kinda made me laugh. The part about "wisdom"...well, that just seemed silly. I mean, who can't tell the difference between things they can and cannot change?
God can be such a character sometimes.
In the last two years, I've recited that prayer more times than I can count. It's a part of the preamble to every Al-Anon meeting I attend. But admittedly, I tend to leave those words in the rooms of Al-Anon. I don't keep them on a ragged slip of paper in my pocket. They aren't cleverly displayed on the wall so that I have to glance at them every time I'm in my favorite room in the house (maybe Grandma was on to something). They just aren't on the tip of my tongue these days.
It happened again last night. A simple conversation became a simple disagreement, which turned into me balling my fists...getting tied up in knots...desperately trying to reason...explain...defend...
(dear God, please just make him understand)
The tears that I loathe (those ever-present byproducts of anger, fear, confusion, frustration) flooded my face. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw things. He had to see how illogical, irresponsible, and unreasonable he was being.
My fingers flew across the tiny keys on my phone, texting with such fervor that I kept having to fix my spelling. Even Auto-Correct couldn't read my chaos-inflicted mind. What I've spent the last 2 1/2 years learning and relearning and learning again...was gone. My serenity was (poof) gone.
I wanted to change him...his thoughts, his words, his reasoning. Why? Because they were mean. And they hurt. And though they weren't true, and made little sense, the devil seized them and pounded them into my heart over and over and over again.
I went to bed last night in a daze. My body was in knots. My heart was in shambles. My brain was spinning. And my soul was cloaked in darkness. I knew I didn't want to feel the way I was feeling, but the devil had me so lost in the shadows of anxiety/doubt/shame/fear/worry, I couldn't see the light shining right in front of me.
I lay in my bed, finding it hard to breathe, and suddenly I knew what to do...
God, please take the darkness from my life. Replace it with Your light. Change the words in my heart from "selfish" and "unworthy," to "loved" and "redeemed." Remind me how much You cherish me; let me see Your smiling face instead of the faces that look at me with hate. Shower me in Your grace, mercy, and love so that the devil can't get into my heart...in Jesus' name, I pray...
I repeated that prayer over and over, and I felt it. The words that had stabbed at my heart melted away. It wasn't that I forgot them; it was like they had never existed. All I felt was God's love, filling the darkness in my heart, reassuring me that I didn't need to justify myself to anyone. And suddenly, I knew...
The words that were intended to destroy me weren't about me at all. They had nothing to do with me. In fact, they were none of my business. I had no control over those hateful words, but I had the power to change my perspective, and that power came from God.
And in Him is my serenity. My peace.
I yearn for peace. I'm not talking about sunsets-on-the-beach peace. I dream of the kind of peace that is deeper. It's a peace within my soul, so solid, so mighty, that anxiety/shame/doubt/fear/worry can't worm their way into my heart. For a long time, I had no idea what that kind of peace looked like. Peace was a Stranger, a Man I'd met from time to time, but Someone I really didn't have time for...Someone I might talk to if I was stuck in traffic or when the bills began mounting up. But He wasn't Someone I could trust. After all, my life pretty much sucked.
That's all changed, including the sucky-life nonsense. But truthfully, sometimes (more often than I'd like to admit) I forget where to find my Peace. Why, you ask?
I am addicted to chaos.
I am addicted to fixing others.
I am addicted to worry.
I am addicted to giving in.
I am addicted to fear.
I am addicted to expectations.
I am addicted to being right.
I am addicted to the belief that I am in control.
For me, the idea of power is like a frosty, cold beer to an alcoholic. If it seems within my reach, I want to grab hold of it with both hands and drink it in big gulps. I want to feel it flowing into me, relaxing my overwrought nerves, bringing me that peace I so desire. Power is a remedy. Power is a drug. Power is a solution.
Power is an illusion. All it takes is an argument with an alcoholic to make that painfully clear. When these moments arise, I know God is giving this power-hungry girl a choice. Try to "fix" it myself, or turn it over to Him. Trust my own abilities to "handle" the alcoholic (because that's always worked out famously), or trust Him.
I am not God. Not so long ago, I was really good at pretending I was, so forgive me if I sometimes relapse. But God has this funny way of reclaiming his power. And praise Him, He is always the "God of my understanding." That gives me the freedom to have an ever-evolving relationship with Him. What I understand about Him today may not be my understanding tomorrow. I don't have to be perfect in my life or my relationship with Him. I can try to take control. My prayers don't have to be perfect. I can make mistakes. I can forget to call on Him. I can take one step forward, and two steps back. I speak of my addictions in the present tense because they still exist. But I am learning to deal with my defects and live a beautiful life, not in spite of them, but because of them. Mine is a program of "progress, not perfection."
God, thank You for your gift of serenity. And even though I don't always get it, thank You for you're oh-so-witty sense of humor. You knew who I was going to be back when I was laughing at that plate in Grandma's kitchen, didn't You? Please help me to keep Your name forever on the tip of my tongue. If possible, I'd prefer a rustic sign. Perhaps a DIY created from old pallets??? A touch of burlap wouldn't hurt. Oh, and chevrons! I LOVE chevrons. But really, God, I just want You to be my go-to Guy. Cool?
Cool.
