which part is mine?

I’ve been told…

I’m stubborn.
I’m thick headed.
I’m insanely beautiful.
But I digress.

I think God knew that I was going to be that way. Rather than just spell it all out for me in plain English He sends other people to touch my life and one of them was Michael McLean.

Never met the dude.
But I’m a fan.
Mostly because he got through my thick skull.

Mr. McLean is a very talented song writer whose music touches me and generally brings me to tears or to my knees-both are common responses to his work. There is one song that will likely follow me to the grave. I heard it once years ago and haven’t forgotten even a word of it since, “Which Part is Mine.”

The song takes a young girl through motherhood with the constant struggle of not being sure which part is hers and which part is belongs to someone else; her singing partner, her husband, and then she hits a moment in life where she realizes the struggle is bigger than that.

Which part is mine?

And God?

Which part is yours?

Can you tell me one more time, I’m never quite sure.

Then I won’t cross the line,

Like I have before.

But it gets so confusing sometimes.

Do I do more or trust the divine?

Can you please, tell me which part is mine

And which part is yours.

Sometimes the line is so blurry. I mean-do I just have faith that things will work out if I let go and let God or do I need to exhaust every option first with my own sweat and tears? I find myself often whispering those words “which part is mine and which part is yours” late at night in earnest, hoping to see clearer where the line is.

I want to intervene in any situation I think I can make a difference. I want to shield our kids from the horrors of the world. I want to help people through circumstances that I don’t think they can handle on their own. All noble desires. But there’s a limit. And there are boundaries. I have a part, but it’s only a part of a very large picture.

I’m still not sure.
And I’m VERY stubborn.
But the more I ask, the clearer it becomes.

-McGee

the play book.

Put me in coach.

I’m ready to play!
Just tell me what to do!

Oh wait.
You thought I was talking about basketball?
Maybe softball?

Nah.
This is my current conversation with the big man.
The one upstairs.

You see…I’m a list maker. I write things I’ve already done, on to do lists, just so I can start the list off with things I can already cross off! I’m a planner. Let’s make a plan and carry it through. There is safety and security in that. I can fly by the seat of my pants and live moment to moment (Pretty Woman, anyone?) but I do it best when I know what the grand plan is!

So when I make a plan…
And God laughs…
I start to worry.

Where is the book?
The play book.

The one that tells me what to do next and how to proceed.
The book that calls all the shots so I don’t have to.
The one that takes the calculated risk, knowing all that can happen and has a back up plan ready to go in case Play #1 doesn’t work out.

I believe in a higher power.
Other than Oprah.
Although I think she’s grand.

I believe that there is a plan for us but I also believe we have free agency-best gift ever-it means that God may know what’s best for us and sees our potential, however, we get to choose what to do in any given situation. Here’s the thing…I love that. I do! But I hate that other people get free agency! And I know that hate is a strong word and you shouldn’t use it all the time but I hate it. Why can’t everyone just do according to McGee’s plan?

(Insert insane laughter at my own expense here. No really. It’s ok. Laugh your ass off at me. I have learned to laugh at me and you can too!)

I was talking to a dear friend who’s in a situation that I’ve been in before. (Which, by the way, makes me feel very useful and that my pain is not for nothing-to be able to give guidance and love to another human being based on your own experience, strength and hope is divine.) And I realized that no matter how many times we’ve been in someone else’s shoes, we still can’t tell them what’s right or wrong or assume we know what’s right for them.

We can listen.
And love.
Offer an ear…
And a hug.

But at the end of the day we each make our own decisions based on what our own hearts and lives can handle. And that’s different for each of us. (Thank you Amy Ellen for those words of wisdom!) And that’s ok. It’s part of the plan.

And then I wonder if that play book did exist…

Wouldn’t that take away the point of this life?
Wouldn’t that take away our risk?
Would life be as painful?
But would it also be as rewarding?

And as pleasant as that sounds at the time…to have no true risk...
I believe Garth Brooks when he said…or sang…

"Life is not tried, it is merely survived
If you’re standing outside the fire."

So back into the fire I go.
Without a play book.
But with lots of heart and a little bit of faith.

(And can I just use the “H” word again and point out that I kinda hate it when I start a blog in the place of “why can’t it be easier” and then end it from a place of “duh, silly, it’s not easy and it’s supposed to be that way?” Thanks.)

-McGee