Over the previous month life leveled me. Again. And then again. The reasons why are unimportant – far too often I’ve gotten lost in the symptoms behind the suffering and missed the message, the GIFT, underlying the suffering. In this case, humility.
Life humbles.
And despite the immense pain so often associated with the humbling experience, I love it. Genuinely, ardently love it.
In fact, sometimes I wonder if it is ONLY when I am humbled that I even know how to experience genuine love.
There is something undeniably beautiful about being humbled. Joyful, really. As if hidden in the white space of that suffering message, stands God, who whispers, “This is not being done TO you, it is being done FOR you. Let go.”
If I’m honest, I like the view from my knees, because it is that rare time when I’ve removed the world from my shoulders and acknowledged I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, am exhausted by the pretense, and have surrendered the control I never had.
And there, unburdened, I can take a look around and recognize the interconnectedness of it all and my place in it. I am not more – or less – than the tree, the frog, the wind or my fellow human beings.
If I had one wish, it would be that that humility would fuel every waking moment of my remaining days, because humility, in my humble estimation, is love itself.
