The Need To Reset

Somewhere along the way, I made a trade. Somewhere along the path of my life, I drifted at an intersection and was not aware enough to correct the route. Somewhere along the journey, I set down my own gear and picked up that which was not meant for me. From this unknown point of origin, I went about filling my needs based on what I thought was mine to need, all the while depriving myself of that which I truly did need. Though it is often a lonely travail, I know I'm not alone in this misguided deception. There are others -- living lives based on what we think we need as opposed to living for what we truly need.

I've wasted a small fortune in life's coin over my almost forty-year span on this earth thinking I need to fix myself. Thinking I need to repair my chinks and cracks, and those major fault lines. I've believed all holes need to be sought out and filled before they posed a danger to others. Believed I must tear down and rebuild in an endless cycle of construction, deconstruction and reconstruction, so that I might be more useful and pleasing to myself, God, the humanity within reaching distance of me. I've labored to no end, expecting no end, wishing for an end, in an attempt to be more right than wrong. Labored in vain, deceived by the trade-off, by the drifting from my own road, by the contents of a vessel that were never intended to be carried by me.

But I'm coming 'round. Touching tidbits of an overheard conversation between my Uncle Zan and my Brother Gary, conducted within fifteen confining yet timeless minutes on a jail-phone connection, yanked my attention to front and center. (It was okay to listen in.) The advice proffered, in a nutshell, was this: though God will show us the areas where we need work and then endeavor to assist us in completing the work, it does not mean there are not other areas where His work is completed and acceptable and wholly worthy of attention. Immediately, those words struck my soul and were recognized as truth. Improve but don't neglect to recognize the already improved.

Self-improvement has its place. Yes. And, this is decidedly the era of such. Self-help books abound, multiplying like bunny rabbits in the spring with each and every epiphany to be had by individuals eager to share their personal growth and happen to possess any minuscule bit of talent for taking pen to paper or keyboard to screen. For many, myself included, a faith-based belief system requires a discipline of identifying internal blockages and removing them in order to facilitate a 'closer walk with Thee' -- as the old spiritual lyrics go. To an extent, this internal excavation is all well and good. Beneficial, even, when wielded with guidance and a plan of some sort. And, when not adopted as the only play in the playbook of life, for Pete's sake. No man is a machine. The mind are body are simply not constructed to mechanically search-and-destroy ad nauseam. There must be rest. There must exist a mode by which we step back and absorb the whole as opposed to nitpicking the parts.

Enter self-appreciation: the ability to modestly admire what is good and sound within and without oneself. Ohh, it sounds awkward to me. Painful, even. That's how I know I need it. It is uncomfortable and a tad foreign to entertain this notion, but it is not absurd. It would be absurd to discard it after realizing that the old ways just aren't working as expected.

If I was ever in a position to purchase the old farmhouse of my dreams, I would not then attempt to transform it into a new creation by removing and repairing every blemish and fault it held. It would cease to be the old farmhouse. The sweet little homesteads I have visited charmed me with their character; their character resides in the lines and cracks and chinks. It is the very existence of these aged and wear-altered homes, continuing on despite their imperfections, actually taking on beauty and stately attributes due to time's passage, which stirs appreciation within me. Knowing they have withstood tornado and snow, birth and death, countless footsteps and creaking stairs, bats in the attic and snakes in the basement, arouses my sense of admiration. Never have I wished for them to stand as anything other than what they are. Outside of any obvious hazards which might keep the house from safely enfolding its inhabitants in sheltered comfort, I would add only those things which would accentuate the structure and its personality. I would allow the home to shine and be exactly what it's original builder intended it to be.

To that means to an end, I'm settling. I'm settling for me just as I am. For now. I'm checking myself out from another vantage point. Accepting my construction and foundation. Exploring my basic layout and design. It is similar to looking out over my yard from the window of my son's second-story bedroom and finding that I am enchanted by the view of the trees from above and afar. I'm unable to discern the minutiae and therefore cannot habitually focus in on the Bermuda grass invading the herb bed or the lower branches of the redbud in need of trimming or the empty bird feeder in need of filling. I don't sense work. To my naked eye exists no obvious 'to-do' that might mar the present pleasure. All that I see is a bird's-eye perspective of beauty. An expanse of nature's flora which has been purposely planted and lovingly tended. I reset in that moment where my landscaping duties are concerned. In the same way, I'm hoping to reset in a major moment where my person is concerned.

No more deprivation. No more exchanges of 'who I was made to be' for 'who I think I need to be.' No more parallel journeys on a path not meant for my feet. No more luggage tagged with a name other than Gloria. And, by the way, that would be the Gloria - so designated at birth by her aforementioned uncle - whose very name means Glory-to-God.