Because God does not have a very good return policy
I am what is called a highly sensitive person. Some may use the word empath. I generally say I’m a sap. I cry at anything sad. Horror movies are out of the question. I’m always worried about how others are feeling.
I FEEL — period. And not just my own emotions, it is as if I can sense what others are feeling. I’m the one panning the room and noticing the person off by themselves, and my heart wants to reach out and wrap them in a hug. Or at the very least, I walk over and start talking to them.
This has felt like a burden most of my life. Like the pack mules in the Grand Canyon with their huge bags of supplies piled high on their backs, draped down their sides — looking like a Michelin man with their puffed up saddles. Instead of supplies, my saddlebags are full of feelings. And they can be heavy.
When my oldest sister was diagnosed with leukemia, the sadness and fear were like an exploding balloon in my chest and a crushing weight on my shoulders. I cried in the privacy of the school bathroom stall regularly.
When the new girl came to my high school and people teased her incessantly, I could barely look her in the eye. I was too afraid to see her pain. I could only put myself in her shoes and feel the rejection deep in my heart.
I remember the first time I felt my sensitivity was too much. A young woman was killed in a car accident when we were both teenagers. I barely knew her, yet I remember crying as I read the newspaper article about the crash. I went to her funeral and could barely keep it together as we walked by the table of photos from her short life. I couldn’t figure out why I was so sad for someone I had only met a few times.
It’s a curse, this sensitivity of mine. Or at least that is how I interpreted it to be for most of my life. I wished I weren’t so dang sensitive. I wished I didn’t FEEL so much. I did everything possible to keep my tears to myself. They were there; I just tried to cry in private. Which only worked some of the time.
I don’t think I’m alone in wishing I were different in some ways. Maybe you also carry the sensitive burden. Or maybe, like me, you wish you were more flexible. (Yoga is but a fantasy for this body.)
I know all the good mottos and mantras and beliefs about our uniqueness. Even the notion that I am divinely inspired. “You are uniquely you,” I’ve heard so many times. It is so cliché.
Until I read a short meditation by Father Richard Rohr, a Franciscan friar who founded the Center for Action and Contemplation, about radical gratitude. Life is a gift. You are a gift. In his words, a gift from God.
The passage continued…
“Our life is not our own; yet, at some level, enlightened people know that their life has been given to them as a sacred trust. They live in gratitude and confidence, and they try to let the flow continue through them.”
Do you ever wish you were not something? What would you change about yourself? What if that one thing is what you’re most called to be in this world? God does have a sense of humor. And a very bad return policy.
Your life is not your own. It is a sacred gift.
I thought about the idea of a gift. This was not a “Will you buy me this for Christmas?” sort of gift. This is a gift you had no power in choosing. It was freely given — from a power much greater than Santa Claus.
I kept thinking about my burden of sensitivity. For years, it was one of those gifts I wished I could return. I imagined walking up to the customer service counter at God’s Gifts R Us and setting it down, demanding they take my empathy back. I wanted a refund. Or at least exchange it for a cooler heart and drier eyes.
But that’s not how the sacred gift works. Like the pack mules, they are built to carry heavy loads. Their hooves are harder and provide better traction to handle steep and rocky terrain. In simple terms, they have a gift.
I was born sensitive. I probably cried out of empathy for my tired mom. For whatever reason, I see, hear, and feel the range of emotions in this world. With that has come an ability to be in those spaces with others. To hold a container where people can feel and experience sadness and grief, regret and anger, frustration and hurt, as well as joy and love and celebration. I can create a safe place for people to just be who they are.
My sensitivity and empathy are blessings. In a world full of noise and competition, feeling seen and heard is a powerful but rare occurrence. Offering that to others is my earthly gratitude for the sacred gifts I’ve received. It is my attempt to let it flow.
There is no refund or exchange for sacred gifts. My only job is to give radical thanks to the universe, to God, and honor the sacred trust by sharing my gifts with the world.
Amen.
*This post originally appeared in Mystic Minds on Medium Offering Radical Gratitude for Sacred Gifts | by Rochelle Finzel | Mystic Minds | Medium