Yikes!
Every time I hop on here I notice more and more people writing. It might be my fault because historically whenever I encountered someone who said they couldn’t write I always said, “Of course you can! If you can talk you can write!”
Which, I realize now, actually isn’t true.
And I don’t mean that in a snobby way, I just mean … sure everyone can play baseball, but some people are naturally good at baseball and should play it a lot. Other people should enjoy an occasional game of pick-up baseball in their backyard, when the nieces and nephews come to town.
Then along came, la di da … the Interconnected Modern Day Web of Everything where everyone can say and do anything they want all the day long!
Where are the editors? is what I wanna know.
But anyway the thing is I woke up thinking about milk money.
First, I love the way it sounds. I think if I owned a bank I’d name it Milk Money. Second, it made me giggle a little, thinking about the concept, that our mom gave us some spare change so we could get a milk to go with our lunch that day. Of course we always wanted the chocolate, which was probably a little more expensive and off limits because it wasn’t as healthy, maybe.
Anyway, my writing process goes like this: something has entered my consciousness, always in the morning, so I sit down at the keyboard and see what comes. Writing isn’t so much something I do as something that happens through me. Warm and fuzzy cozy, right?
Like pretty much everything in life I have found that the more I get my dumb self out of the way, the better things go.
Parenting, chaplaining, helping, churching, whatever it is, the less I try to insert my underdeveloped self, the more room there is for Maturity to flow.
There are so many great ways to describe the indescribable energy that flows through, around and toward us. God is the least interesting, most boring, path of least resistance name. I like things like The Magnificent Whatever or even Ed or Buster, something you’d name a loyal and comforting Lab who stays by your side even when you’re too grumpy to take him for a walk.
I sense that S/he Who Does Not Have a Great Name knows a little more than I, so sometimes I simply refer to the thing as Maturity.
And I’m amazed that Maturity wants to spend any time with me at all, given my shoddy behavior, my laziness and that day back in the 80s when I was supposed to go on a romantic trip with my boyfriend and I changed my mind at the last minute and went to Martha’s Vineyard with a bunch of friends instead. I defaulted to the better option a lot back then. I was not magnificent for a lot of my life.
Somehow, though, the Mystery Nearby keeps giving me my milk money, offering me a shot at getting through another day, and even with a little protein boost for good measure!
I’ve learned to stop second-guessing this. I’ve learned to shut up and let it be. Let it be. Let it be. Let it be. When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me, too, even though I did nothing to deserve it. I try to just …
Milk money was one of my first conscious thoughts this morning.
Give us this day our daily bread.
You got this, is no doubt what the Greatest of All Timelessness is trying to tell me. You’ve got everything you need and more to get through another day out there, and in case things go south, we’ve got your back.
Somehow the Giver of The Milk Money believes in me, trusts I have important work to do and loves me in spite of myself. It’s enough, way more than enough, actually. I try to return the favor as often as possible.
Here’s a little milk money to get you up and at ‘em, Holy Moly said to me this morning. Hi ho Silver, and it’s chocolate all the way!
xomo
Chocolate milk all the way from Hershey Pa.
“Let It Be” was ah phrase she often said to him