I often joke with my sons about things we do: “Owned that treadmill today, boys. Like a boss.” “Way to clean up your room—like a boss.”
For any of you unfamiliar with the phrase, it means you pegged it. Whatever you’ve just done, you took charge and made it happen.
All jesting aside, this week I am reminded that I am so NOT the boss.
My sister had to return to the operating room because her cancer had spread. Reminder numero uno that even though I was settling into a routine again after the death of both of my parents, feeling like things might be “safe” for a while, the universe has other plans. I can love her all I want and send all the positive energy I’ve got her way, but I’m not controlling the outcomes. Such a helpless feeling to know you can do nothing to change the end result except hope and pray. Maybe that should be enough, but for us “boss” types, it’s a challenge.
We can eat right, exercise and shovel all the flax seed possible into our politically correct organic green smoothies, but we can still fall seriously ill.
We can read all the books we want on parenting, relationships and communication—and still screw it up emotionally, despite our intellectual prowess in these areas.
We can try our best to model for our kids the behavior we’d like to see, but still be faulty humans who will fall short some days.
So what do you do when you can’t be the boss? Hope. Pray. Do all you can do. And then give it up to God. Whatever God means to you.
It was not until I was on my knees during my divorce, realizing that the only thing I could control was my reaction to events, rather than the events themselves, that I found peace. Peace amid the muck.
So here I am again, on my knees. Trying to do all the right things. Facing so clearly my human faults, foibles and limitations. Realizing the divine is in charge. And I am to sit. Wait. And listen.
So not like a boss. But maybe that’s the point of this lesson.