111 The Grace of Acceptance

That is really difficult for me to accept. Coming from the Country of Perfect (Flag Page character analysis), I can see the “better way”. I can visualize what is easiest, healthiest, economically wise. It could be so easy. Tweak this. Move that. Do the other. And perfection will play out. I can see it for the worlds of my people.

This morning I woke up with the picture of Smith Wigglesworth in my mind, with him holding up the dead man, commanding him to come back to this existence.  No success with that one.  (And so much success in raising the dead in other circumstances.) In the acceptance, there is grace.

We are not always supposed to be the assistance, to bring the balance, to provide the healing.

That is really difficult for me to accept.  Coming from the Country of Perfect (Flag Page character analysis), I can see the “better way”.  I can visualize what is easiest, healthiest, economically wise.  It could be so easy.  Tweak this.  Move that.  Do the other.  And perfection will play out.  I can see it for the worlds of my people.

But it doesn’t work for me. My mind can picture what I want from myself, what is right, what I would like to do, be and accomplish.  But an inner lump wins.  (I started with the word “slug”, an inner slug, but I have watched some slugs cross the yard at a rapid pace!)

It is not inability.  It is not about time, because God knows there is tons of that right now.  It isn’t the illness or healing needs, or not so much anyway, because there are things that do get done.  

It is a form of that human paralysis, where I watch myself from outside and just can’t make the moves that “need” to be made.

The green leaves are in the refrigerator, but are not blended into smoothies.  The supplements are in the drawer, but get skipped, especially at night.  Water, why not more water?  Walking is easy, but it doesn’t happen, just doesn’t occur daily.  The writing, the art, the reading.  Why aren’t these things happening in a fluid, simple, healing order?

When I think of Smith Wigglesworth, when I think of watching my friends and knowing the moves that could change everything, and when I live my own conundrum, sometimes the answer is to just be there.  Like holding hands.  Like listening.  Like having great compassion for the struggle. For myself.  For the others.

In the peace of what is, in the acceptance, there is grace.  It is there, hiding in there.

Author: Michele Plumb Stowell

Michele Stowell was a teacher, a hand holder, and encouraging voice. Born an early Gen Xer, she has lived in Western Washington for the duration. Her children, two spectacular genetic daughters and an uncountable number of marvelous scout and school sons and daughters, shine as her biggest impact and her greatest blessing. Just before her 54th birthday, Michele was diagnosed with stage four cancer. Her writing and art work are expressions of the drama and the joy of living earth bound. On October 24, 2021, Michele was released from her physical body, transported to continue her work on other realms.

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