A few years ago, a friend of mine bought me some cute pink undies that say “It’s All About Me.” I love them. I love them because they are a.) pink b.) comfy c.) true (the saying, that is).
But the other day as I was driving, the following conversation ensued.
I said to Son: “You know, it’s not all about you.”
Son: “Uh, yes it is.”
Me: “No. It’s not. It can’t be all about you.”
Me: “I said, it can’t be all about you… because it’s all about ME.”
Other Son: “What are you people talking about?”
It was as if the words of God came out of Other Son’s mouth at that moment. WHAT are you people talking about?
Now, I’m a mature woman – sometimes. And I know it’s not really all about me. That God is in control, and that my direction of the world around me is simply an illusion. But I can get delusional sometimes. I really get to thinking that if I place my little actors on my stage just so, they will say the lines they are supposed to say and walk the direction they are supposed to walk, and in the end of the production, the actors will stand and give me an ovation. Right? This is crazy. And this is what happens when God gets slowly inched out of my life.
So today, I dropped my kids off at my parents house so they can take them to the lake. I headed to Starbucks before coming back to the Money Pit to start staging it for sale. Lo and behold, there are my parents inside with my children. Except for one. The crabby one.
The sassy boy who barely uttered a goodbye to me this morning because he was mad his DS wasn’t working, stood at the end of the drive-thru waiting for me.
“Don’t make me drive away,” I said to the barista through the drive-thru window.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Crabby Son awaits me just a few yards ahead and I don’t want to hear his tongue thrashing about.”
“Uh, well, you could stay all day but I think there’s someone behind you,” she says, not so sympathetically.
So I said goodbye to the last person I may ever see on earth before Crabby Son carjacks me and leaves me dead on the side of the drive-thru.
I drive up to him– slowly — waiting to see what spews from his mouth.
And then the most amazing thing happens: He leans his head and arms into the car and says: “I just wanted to say goodbye, Mom. And I love you.” And then he wraps his arms around my neck (gently, as in a hug) AND kisses my shoulder.
“Goodbye, Bud. I had fun hanging out with you last night. Thanks for being with me.”
At that, Crabby Son turned into Smiling Son and walked away.
This is what God does for me. These are the gifts he gives me to let me know that “it” – everything in this world – is not all about me. It’s about Him. The One who has so much goodness in store for me when I least expect it. The One who creates a path for reconciliation and forgiveness and humility – all things I experienced right there at the end of the Starbucks drive-thru with my son.
So thank God my underwear is wrong because it’s exhausting to try and make it all about me. My brain can’t handle the pressure it takes to keep the illusion alive. I do all sorts of crazy things to get my way and to orchestrate a days worth of “feeling good” about me. And what happens, I end up disappointed and resentful because – NEWS FLASH- no one else thinks it’s all about me.
And quite frankly, I’m done thinking that way, too. Thank God for “it” being all about Him. Now I can live as I was made to live, loving God, and others and myself – as His daughter, not as the Queen of the Universe.