When someone is silly enough to express them in my presence, I usually have to fight an internal war of words carried on in my head and my soul, and in which there are no winners. They are careless phrases, generally tossed out when at a loss for something more substantial to explain the unexplainable. They are meant to be uplifting, I guess, but instead, they make me mad.
So, in reverse order, here are my top two.
The second worst phrase in the English language is, "It could be worse."
Could it, now? And does it make you feel better to hear that when you have just been run down by the Mack truck of life? Because when you say that to me, what I'm hearing is, "Whatever you are complaining about, hurt by, frustrated over, doesn't really matter to anyone but you, and thus, it doesn't really matter at all."
I will take an example from my own life experience to illustrate what I mean. A few days after my husband walked out on me (and the kids, and believe me, it is a group project,) I got a flat tire on my car. In the rain. My hungry daughter, who needed her dinner, was with me, and she was getting later and later to dance. I couldn't find my AAA card, without which, you cannot call and get the help that you need. (And for which, I might add, you have already paid a handsome price, as well.) It was getting late, it was cold, and we were stranded. This, in short, was A Big Problem.
Now it could, of course, have been worse. As people are so fond of pointing out in these kinds of situations, I could have had cancer (my mom got it two months later.) I could have lost my job (not only check, but checkmate, with the IRS audit, still ongoing, that followed.) I could have been homeless (not yet, but give me a few months.) Well, yes, I see what you mean. I do feel so much better now.
Even if all of those things hadn't happened, it would not have made the fact that I had a flat tire in the rain, no money, and a hungry child who was late to dance, any better. That's what is wrong with that statement, in fact. The idea that someone else may have it worse doesn't diminish the current miserable state of affairs in which you find yourself. Pointing out that there are people in even more desperate straights simply makes me rage against fate even harder. A class action of ill will in the universe is more unfair yet.
The truth is, when it's your life, misery generally does not love company. On the contrary, when I am whining and complaining, what I mostly want from the unfortunate person being forced to listen to me rant and rave is the acknowledgement that sometimes, life just sucks.
Naturally, if you want that type of response, you must select your target audience carefully, and be sure to complain to someone who understands and acknowledges that reality. For me, that person is often my cousin, who understands my propensity for having things go awry. Having been divorced herself, and having the same talent for random bad luck happenstance that I have, she wisely never tempts fate by pointing out that it could be worse, a fact that I appreciate on a regular basis when speaking to her.
What we have learned, she and I, is that life is filled with irony. Whenever you make the pronouncement, "It could be worse," the one thing that is almost guaranteed to happen is that it will get worse, just to oblige. And heaven knows, when you have my knack for falling off the horse and breaking the carousel of life, you do not tempt fate any further than you have to.
That little bit of nonsense, however, pales in comparison to my least favorite phrase of all time. Special scorn is reserved for the irritating proverb, "God won't give you more than you can handle." Okay, if that was true, we could eliminate Prozac and psychiatrists, for starters, and I would have saved a lot of money over the years. God allowed Job to suffer, and he was a lot more faithful than me, so there is no reason to think that I am going to fare any better.
One of my favorite pieces of literature is a poem entitled, "The Plan of the Master Weaver." The author is unknown, but surely it is someone who has struggled in life, and found themselves questioning why some people have all the luck, while others would have none at all, if it weren't for the bad luck that seems to visit them on a regular basis. The poem talks about how we on earth only see the unfinished underside of the tapestry of life, while God sees the upper side, so he sees the whole, clear picture. On my side, I have strings, broken threads, colors all mish mash and confused. Sometimes, you can make out the pattern, but more often, it's just a vague outline, or more likely, just a mess.
One of the reasons I love that poem so much is that it doesn't assume we should understand the reason for anything. When everything is in shambles, and you can't see the sense in anything, it doesn't mean you are the problem. It allows for the idea that sometimes everything can go wrong, but life can still turn out all right.
I have always said, "Life's not fair, and then you die." My mother hates it when I say that, but that was the reality I learned when my dad died when I was 12 years old. Life is not fair. That's it. There is no explanation, no deeper meaning. No platitude about my father being in a better place made the slightest bit of sense to me, because it was obvious to me that I was not better off without him, and that was what really mattered. Sometimes life makes no sense at all, and it is futile to try to make reasonable what is not.
So don't kid yourself, God will allow you to be completely overwhelmed by your life. The troubles will pile on, and the grief will not seem unbearable, but be unbearable. There will be times that you will hurt so bad you can't breathe. I have learned over the course of my life that there are moments when you simply cannot be strong, cannot be brave, cannot handle or accept or tolerate the situation in which you find yourself.
What then, do we say to the unfortunate, the overwhelmed, the person who is getting shafted by the vagaries of fate, for no reason other than that they exist? How do we explain the tsunami victims, or the young mother killed by a drunk driver who walks away unscathed? Is there any answer that will help inspire the person for whom God has already allowed too much, and they can't handle any more?
For me, that is where the true friend comes in. My friends of the heart don't ask me to be strong or fair or even happy most of the time. My true friends rage with me, and agree that life is unfair. When I take two steps forward and one step back, my real friends care as much about the step backwards as the steps forward, and they aren't afraid to notice that the pace is somewhat uneven.
Most importantly, those people in my life who genuinely care about me don't try to minimize what is wrong in my life by pointing out that someone else has it even worse. And in acknowledging what is wrong for me, they also allow me to find for myself what is right, what is good, where I have been blessed, where serendipity has entered the picture.
Last week was a long one around here. I found myself, once again, treading water and gasping for air, wishing for a vacation from my life, just for a little while. I spent some moments raging against the vagaries of fate. Even my very own mother, who is normally the eternal optimist, was forced, at one point, to admit that I do have the most ridiculous things happen to me. While it could, undoubtedly, be worse, it was bad enough for me.
And yet, in the midst of my complaints, the realization of what is right slowly worked its way into my consciousness, and I felt somewhat better. There is an old saying, where there is life, there is hope. I think, of all the things that are amazing about the human spirit, it may be that quality which is most precious. Sometimes, out of the worst of times comes the best of ourselves. The enduring hope that tomorrow will be a better day is not just in the movies.
One of the things I would wish to do in life is to use my own tribulations to help other people cope with theirs. When you are experiencing hard times, it is more meaningful to hear from someone who has been through it, that you will not only survive, but be okay. If writing is my talent, then perhaps in writing about my own hard times, I can inspire someone else in theirs.
Life is hard, and then you do die, it is true. So you don't need to minimize what is wrong about your life, or anyone else's. But at the same time, you should also encourage and allow the realization to grow that in the middle, sometimes you are blessed to see the vague outline of the tapestry that is your life, and if you look really hard, you will find some random threads of unexpected beauty. It still won't make sense, it still won't be fair, but you may find, like the poem says, that it is the black threads that are the foundation of life, and the silver and gold are just the accents. And perhaps that is the way it is supposed to be.
The Plan of the Master Weaver
Our lives are but fine weavings
That God and we prepare,
Each life becomes a fabric planned
And fashioned in His care.
We may not always see just how
The weavings intertwine,
But we must trust the Master's hand
And follow His design,
For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side,
While we must look from underneath
And trust in Him to guide...
Sometimes a strand of sorrow
Is added to His plan,
And though it's difficult for us,
We still must understand
That it's He who fills the shuttle,
It's He who knows what's best,
So we must weave in patience
And leave to Him the rest...
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why ---
The dark threads are as needed
In the Weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
---Author Unknown
Our lives are but fine weavings
That God and we prepare,
Each life becomes a fabric planned
And fashioned in His care.
We may not always see just how
The weavings intertwine,
But we must trust the Master's hand
And follow His design,
For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side,
While we must look from underneath
And trust in Him to guide...
Sometimes a strand of sorrow
Is added to His plan,
And though it's difficult for us,
We still must understand
That it's He who fills the shuttle,
It's He who knows what's best,
So we must weave in patience
And leave to Him the rest...
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why ---
The dark threads are as needed
In the Weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
---Author Unknown
