The Other Me

Do you ever wonder if there’s a better you somewhere? A you that would:

Wake up like a toddler and run to the window and announce, “The sun is shining! Just for me!” instead of groaning, burying your head under the pillow, wishing for just five more minutes.

Say to your husband, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better,” instead of thinking, “Why do you care so much about a little toothpaste spit in the bathroom sink when you leave crumbs all over the kitchen? And what about all that broken junk in the garage? And how you have so many faults I never even mention!"

Give money to a person in need without even considering whether it’s wise to do so.

Never say things like, “I guess I’m the only person in this house who knows how to empty a dishwasher.”

Not notice that the woman using food stamps has a $120 hairstyle.

Laugh when the upstairs bathroom floods because you left the faucet on while the water was turned off so your husband could fix yet another plumbing leak in a week in which 10 other things had broken. And then decide to have dinner guests anyway because they were having a hard time. (My sister and her husband did this– my heroes.)

Say yes to any request to go on boring errands just for the pleasure of being with a family member instead of staying home to “get things done”.

Listen gratefully to the sound of your husband’s snoring, proof that he’s alive, that he’s there.

Forget to ask how much it cost, or will cost, or if the checks were deposited.

Join your husband who is dancing in the much-needed rain instead of just watching from the window.

Cling to the feet of Jesus, refusing to let go, loving Him, wasting precious perfume, oblivious to decorum.

Look at people like the ones who go on Dr. Phil and, instead of getting angry, weep. The way Jesus did over Jerusalem.

Hug people so hard it takes their breath away.

Wish like Pilate in Toni Morrison’s "Song of Solomon", If I’d a knowed more people, I’d a loved more…

Every now and then something stirs. I hear a far-off hymn. I hum Paul McCartney’s “The Other Me”. Something calls me to break out, to stop measuring, calculating, guarding, withholding, being the same person day after day. To believe, really believe, He “makes all things new.” Even me.