the original source You Have More reserve Than You Know
"God's the kind of guy you can trust," was my friend John's advice on
a particularly bleak autumn morning. At the time, I probably gave him one
of those oh-please-do-you-think-this-is-going-to-help-me-pay-my-bills
looks. Sure, he could trust the Universe. He had a gorgeous wife and a
great family. He lived in a glorious home and took exotic vacations. He
drove a Bmw-- with a car seat. He did not roll his grocery cart down the
aisle bypassing the artichokes because they were too expensive.
You Have More reserve Than You Know
I looked at him with his picture-book-perfect life and my upper lip
curled. I scanned my own life and felt like I was facing off against the
Green Bay Packers wearing high heels and a dress. And I didn't see any
solution in sight. Those dang prestige card bills were pummeling me so hard
I was seeing double.
How could I even think of trusting in divinity? I had recently
discovered that my husband was wildly unfaithful. On top of that, I had
lost my business. I was living in someone else's pool house, driving a beat up
borrowed car with a shredded roof because I was far too broke to afford
even the smallest car payment, and surviving on peanut butter to pay off
Mr. Mastercard.
Sure John could trust the Big Guy upstairs. His life worked. Mine
sucked. His Gps was functioning; mine was obviously on the fritz. The
Higher Power assigned to him had coached him all the way to the Super
Bowl. Mine had left me sitting on the bench.
Oh, It's Easy for You to Say
Being a pretty sensitive guy, John picked up on my inner rant. He saw
through the "crash and burn" of my circumstances and focused on all the
good in my life. He reminded me, first and foremost, of my condition and the
wealth of people in my life who in effect cared about me--like John
himself and his wife, Gracie, for instance. I was fortunate to have such
close friends during a tough time. Plus my ex-husband's mom was actually
loaning me a car. Oh, and yes, I had a small but lovely roof over my head.
Don't you hate it when people cut your complaining in half? I sure
did.
I would look back on this time in my life and count it as a blessing,
John assured me. A blessing! I looked at him like he was smoking crack.
But he wouldn't give up. I had the occasion to be a phoenix, he said--
that aged mythical bird that rose from the ashes of its own funeral pyre,
miraculously born anew. He and Gracie knew that in the midst of my
challenge was an occasion for me to come to be a bigger and better person.
Bigger and better person? Ha!
But from John's viewpoint, my precarious situation was a noble quest.
I had unwittingly put myself in the flames. Now the decision was mine: I
could roll nearby in the soot of feeling sorry for myself, or I could start
making choices to come to be a more magnificent being. When he reminded
me that Spirit saw my goodness even if all I saw were the charred remains
of what I had called my life, he struck a powerful, deep chord.
I belief of Cinderella and the ashes. As a minuscule girl I all the time wanted
to rush through the starting when she was covered in cinders and
wearing rags, and get to the part where she wore pretty clothes and got her
Prince Charming. Even as a kid I was a sucker for a good tiara and a great
dress. I sighed a deep breath and figured it was time to dust the ashes off
and go find my ball gown.
John was right. If I had a shovel to dig myself out of my mess, the
Universe had a backhoe (that's one honking big digging machine).
Regardless of what it looked like, maybe a Higher Power was supporting
me. Trusting Spirit, however, was as foreign to me as football. I grew up
playing with Barbie's, for goodness sake.
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