Maybe you’ve heard the phrase, “God won’t give you more than you can handle.”
I have heard those words many times. And I used to believe they were true. But … I’m not so sure, anymore. A Google search on this topic will turn up various philosophical perspectives, and even Biblical references and research. But, I’ve just done my own thinking.
I think, if we own that phrase — God only gives us what we can handle — we are believing that God gives us hardships and difficulties. Do I really believe that he dishes out struggles to us like playing cards?
That can’t be right.
Instead, I believe that “God gives us the grace to handle what we are dealt.” *Life* dishes out the struggles. Life is hard. And, surely, life is unfair at times. But we can find grace in many forms, and that is what sustains us.
A co-worker/friend and I were discussing — God puts people in our path for just this reason. True. My dad used to say that God doesn’t call us home until our work here on earth is completed. We are here on this planet in community — to help each other. Sometimes we are aware of that. Sometimes we are not.
In this first round of holidays without my dad, I find myself pondering life. My life, and life in general. In a very real way, I am empty. Damn straight I am. But I am also strong. As I live in grace, I am filled with love and strength. This helps. It is a choice, I believe, to seek this out. And the more we look for the positive things, the more often we will find them. That is not accidental, folks. I have always been one to see the good — especially to see good in people. Oh, yes. Sometimes, people are not good. Or nice. Or even decent. And I get burned. But that’s okay. That is life.
As I have lately been ruminating, and now as I am writing, I am thankful for SO many good things that remind me of my dad. And I smile, even as there are tears in my eyes.
In beginning my day’s work at OFHS, I have the wonderful fortune to walk into the same school building where my dad had taught for several decades. I am walking the same hallways where he had once tread. I sit in the cafeteria with my charge — the same cafeteria where he likely dreaded lunch duty (if there even was such a thing back in the days of “open lunch”). When I enter the faculty room, I remember him sitting at the table, introducing me with fatherly pride to his fellow teachers. And I know a corny remark must have followed.
I see co-workers throughout my day, and I greet them. Some of these same people were taught and even coached by my dad. Some just heard tell of Mr. S. Do they know how strong their connection to him is for me? It is. And I am thankful that I have them in my life as a tangible reminder of how he made his students and players think, and laugh and work hard.
As I walk down the high school hallway to my classroom, I know I am tracing dad’s steps, as he headed down to the end of the hallway and the wood shop.
And, when the shop class fires up their saws, and the smell of freshly cut wood fills the hallway, it is hard to contain my tears. That was dad’s domain. Those sounds and smells equal him, and I hold those memories so dearly.
I am crying as these words appear on my monitor.
Yes, I am still aching and sad, and I miss my dad so very much. But I am blessed. I am truly thankful for the grace I have in my work surroundings, and most importantly in the people I work with every day. They are in my life for a reason. Their spiritual work is to help me heal from the grief of losing my father. I wonder if they know this. Thank you, all. I love you. Through you, I am filled with the grace and love I need to be strong. There is no other place in my heart I’d rather be than right here. Right now. <3
Such a beautiful documentary to your Dad. Bless you.