I’ve had an exceptionally humbling week. Maybe you know what that feels like. You decide you’re going to be brutally honest about your feelings and let them all out, even if they are completed tainted and whacked. Then you discover that you’ve caused tremendous pain. Suddenly it doesn’t feel so good to speak your mind, to tell it like it is. Because you learn that the way you see it isn’t the way it is at all. Your self-absorbed view was way off, and you’re left feeling sheepish and sick. Humbled, that’s a better word. It implies that something good may come of this. You’re knocked off your high horse and left in the manure. . . where you feel you belong.

I spoke up vehemently, and at the time, I was on a roll. Spitfire Irish bite minus the humor and wit, just plain ugly. I look back, and I can’t believe it. What the hell came over me? I think the point is that hell did indeed come over me. I apologized profusely. Did I destroy relationships? Will things ever be the same?

Seeking peace this morning, I randomly opened Marianne Williamson’s Illuminata to the following prayer:

“Dear God, The burden that I carry feels too big for me. I’m so scared that this situation is going to fall apart and blow up in my face. I have done the following things that I regret: (say your own). I failed to do the following things I should have done: (say your own). And now, dear Lord, I feel so guilty. The situation is out of control and I am so scared. Please God, I need a miracle. Please give me the chance to begin again. . .”(p. 95). My lists came tumbling out of my mouth, including the failure to put others first and to thank God for life’s many blessings. 

“I forgive you.” Those words set me free to start anew. Now it’s my job to trust in that mercy and in the love of others who really do forgive me, who don’t hold those damn Irish grudges. I’ve learned that I can’t trust others if I can’t trust myself. And when you hurt someone the way I have, you wonder about yourself, so you pray for guidance not to do it again. Lately, I’ve been praying my head off, and God answered with Williamson’s prayer. Flipping to that page today a was mini- miracle for me.

Years ago, when I picked my kids up from Saint Paul Catholic School in Valparaiso at the end of the day, I could hear the principal reciting the Act of Contrition over the loud speaker while the children prayed along. I was always struck by the beautiful reflection, and I still am.