Taking care of the inside of things

As some of you know I adore the high-priestess herself, Anne Lamott and am slowly relishing her newest book, Grace (Eventually). Today found me in the chapter "Cheese Monster" where she is processing her relationship with her mother and how having a teen-ager mellowed the anger of her grief and allowed her to be far more sympathetic to her memory. I am finding so much resonance in her words as I walk this similar path.

This paragraph leapt off the page at me and I wanted to shout a loud AMEN to no one but myself. She verbalizes the ethereal difference that I have tried to put words to between those families who stride through life, seemingly effortlessly, while others stall, stumble and struggle forever.

"My mother's bed always looked like Krakatoa, unless I made it, because she didn't have a clue that you could take care of the inside of things, like friends or your own heart, by tending to surfaces: putting on a little moisturizer, say, or making the bed. Surfaces were strictly for tricking nonfamily into thinking you and your family were enviable, more functional than you were."

This is why recovery has been so important in my life. It has helped me where parenting fell short. Caring for the inside of things was never taught to me. It was probably never taught to my parents either. Generations of my bloodline have probably all struggled with making the outside seem far stronger than the inside could ever bear.

I have found that far too many churches tend to focus on the surfaces too. How tragic it is that those of us who know the Centre are spending too much time on the exterior instead of the core. God forgive us and help us to help these families find and care for the core.