Wearing Damned Shoes That Fit and Chompin’ on Manna Like a Champ.

“Just buy some damned shoes that fit.”

I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle when he said it, but on the coattails of the laugh, a sigh you can feel came and lingered.

“Reference noted”, I replied with a bit more sobriety.

Mother Teresa had deformed feet.  Did you know that?  She did.  Whenever she was in need of shoes, she’d go through the donation pile and find the shoes in the worst possible condition.  After almost a lifetime of doing so, her feet became deformed.  She would rather suffer than allow another to suffer.  She was selfless, a living martyr.

The point he was making was that I was suffering and I didn’t need to be.  A living martyr dying for something that wasn’t worth it.  Not nearly as noble as it is ridiculous.  In this particular situation, I didn’t feel like I was being a martyr.  I was simply unaware.

I had just told him that I’d be getting an eye exam soon to address the increasing discomfort behind and in my eyes from sitting at a computer all day.  He thought that a good idea, as well he should since he was the most persistent in his insistence for me to be examined.  I then expressed some reservations I was having about it.  Really curious, now to see if discomfort isn’t entirely normal.  Perhaps, even, I was making a bigger deal of it than necessary, though I didn’t express it.  I didn’t have to express it.  He knew it.  Thus his response.

It seems a little sharp upon retrospect, but I suppose it is just as necessary.  Maybe not in this instance, but in many, I am quite the living martyr.  Of this, he knows, for he was the first person to label me as such, the first to expose its flaws.

I’ll be honest, it’s really hard to see being selfless as a flaw.  But it can be.

Some things aren’t worth suffering for, dying for.  Some things really are other people’s responsibilities.  If other people don’t take care of their responsibilities, then I deny them both the opportunity to mature and also the consequences of their irresponsibility when I take them on.  And I get that.  I get all of it.

But sometimes, I think it’d be pretty rad if someone helped me out in a big way.  People have, certainly.  The coffeehouse wouldn’t be running had it not been for those who labored while I fell apart last year.  So maybe that’s not what I’m talking about.  Maybe what I’m really talking about is people helping people in little ways.  Because I am totally appreciative when I get offered help in dire circumstances, but it would be maybe equally awesome if someone would put away my laundry or cook me dinner.  Clean my car or hang the art up on my walls.  Heck, I’d be delighted if someone would just sit with me as I did any of these things.

This isn’t an attack on my roommates.  They are wonderful and I love them.  And they do sweet things for me, too.  That’s not what this is about.

This is about feeling like I’ve poured all of me into the universe and have been given a meager supplication in return.

This is about serving and not knowing what it’s like to be served and living in a mindset that says that is totally okay.

This is about wondering whether God is really going to come through for me.  At it’s heart, this is it.

This is all probably not actually true.  I’m probably just feeling it.  But it’s definitely experientially true.  And in the end, something will be added to my pile of responsibilities that I probably shouldn’t even have and then I will become a hermit again, hoarding my time just to feel I have control of myself.

But I don’t have to live this way.  I don’t.  I do, but I don’t.

…

A lot of people have been talking about Exodus lately.  It’s kinda weird.  Like the plight of the Israelites is numero uno in the zeitgeist.  It’s cool with me, though, because we’ve actually been reading in Exodus for this little bible study magic lady group I’m in.  Of course we’ve already had the great “What do you think manna looked like?” share time.   My take:  large flakes of instant mashed potatoes that taste like Frosted Flakes.

What’s really cool about the manna was that even though it was totally God’s provision, there were still limits put on it.  Everyone was supposed to get a certain amount.  It was a lot, too.  Like 2 quarts full of Frosted Flakes, man.  That’s serious.

But still, some people didn’t trust.  Some people took more.  Maybe they were greedy.  I like to think they were scared.  Scared that manna wouldn’t come the next morning, you know?  Well that didn’t make God happy.  Here he is makin’ miracle Frosted Flakes appear out of nothing every morning and the people didn’t trust or believe that he would provide.  So when they kept extra, God was like, “Fine then.  Worms.”  And all that extra magical manna got eaten up by worms.  I’m sure that REALLY made the Israelites more confident that God would provide…  PSYCH.  I woulda been friggin’ out like I don’t even know what.

But you know what the simple truth was?  If they just trusted him, they wouldn’t be in this mess.  If they just trusted that he’d deliver, that he’d provide, then they wouldn’t have gathered more and he wouldn’t have turned the excess into worms.  It all starts with distrust and it ends with worms.

Ain’t that the truth.

And that’s kinda sorta completely my problem.  I give as I feel I should and I fear that God won’t provide.  Why?  Because sometimes I give more than I should.  And the thing of it is is that everyone is supposed to take a portion of the manna, but when I take on more responsibility, others responsibilities, it’s like I’m given my provision away.  Then I go hungry.  So then I hoard my giving and then it turns to worms.

There’s a balance to everything. I’ve  never stayed there very long, but I’ve visited it a bit more often these days. I think it exists when you trust God for the day.  For your daily portion of manna, for your daily bread.  You trust him in that little thing right there and then maybe you’re a little more willing to trust him in the next little thing right after that.  Before long, maybe you don’t spend all your time fearing where the provision will come from because you’re totally committed to the idea that it will always come from God.

You’re sittin’ there chompin’ on your manna like a champ.

And maybe you glance down at your ill fitting shoes and your slightly deformed feet…

New shoes are next, buddy.  Just you wait.