Every time

I look in the mirror lately I catch a glimpse of one or

both of my deceased parents. It's cool.

I suppose I

am starting to look like I remember them looking. I don't

know why I find such comfort - I suppose it's

comfort - in the fact that my mom and dad are me,

and I'm them.

It's not

that I've been missing them any more than usual. Though,

of course, the holidays can be hard. But it hasn't been

the holidays. It's just the mirror.

Sure, I'm

unique. You are, too. But we are uniquely the product of

our parents' union. My husband and I were talking

recently about the adopted child's right to know his or

her birth parents. He thinks there should be no digging

back into the past. I think there is nothing that could

stop me from searching for my birth parents if I had not

known them.

Especially

now.

It's a look

in my eyes sometimes that is my dad's look. The way my

hair falls is from my mother. I am driven much like my

dad always was to be creative and busy and involved. I

can be playful like my mom, and I have her curiosity.

Curiosity

is great as long as it does not flirt with gossip and

other dangerosities. My mom was a gossip at times. I

never have been in the past, but once or twice lately, I

have heard myself repeating things that were probably

better left unsaid. I don't like it.

But that's

okay. I'm learning to accept myself and my shortcomings

so much better that I have in years past.

I have

always wanted to be perfect. Funny - huh?

And you

haven't?

Sure you

have. At some time or other you have wanted to be better

than you are, than you have been, than you think you can

be. Of course you've wanted to be perfect at something,

or to some degree. (Can perfection be fractionated?)

Thank

Heaven Jesus pulled it off, because I have realized

lately that I'm up the creek and there's no paddle in

sight.

Had lunch

with a business associate up on the north side of Atlanta

this past week. He's a professing Christian, too and we

had a real cool conversation over lunch.

Real

conversation it was. No polite chatter or just plain

bull, both of which drive me up a wall. My dad was like

that, too, but at the same time, quite nervous when folks

got too close to him. He wanted to give, to care, to

serve, to reach out... but always guardedly.

Well, I'm

my daddy's daughter, but I'm learning to let down that

guard. Oh, I don't want to. But this attempt to control

everything is ever so wearisome. Downright fatiguing.

I figure

it's time to let go and let God...

Again,

please don't get me wrong. I never am still. I am always

busy. Always doing and planning and enjoying every minute

of it.

But

something neat has happened in recent years, months

- yesterday, maybe. I have given myself permission

to fail. To say no. To just be... to let go, and let God

guide me, love me, keep me.

Does that

mean I'm not going to keep trying to win or succeed?

Shoot no, I want to do well. I want my relationships with

friends and family to be healthy and happy. I want to

accomplish a great deal with my work. There's a hundred

and one writing projects I'd like to pull off.

But I don't

have to do any of it, or be any particular way. Not

anymore. I am my parents' daughter, and God's kid. And

not necessarily in that order. I can live it.

Spoke

briefly with one of my sisters today who was talking

about how one of my brothers looks, talks, and acts

exactly like Daddy. Of course, she, the sister doing the

talking, looks exactly like my paternal grandmother.

Amazing, I

love it!

And you

know what else I was thinking about lately. I was

realizing there is no way I can prove my faith. I can't

prove God's existence or that Jesus was anything special.

But my faith works for me. If I had it all to do over

again, I'm not sure I'd do anything differently.

Never

thought I'd hear myself say that. Actually, I typed it,

so I didn't hear the sound of it. What I think I'm

realizing is the simple fact that life is so much more

than we perceive it to be.

And we, you

and I, are so much more, and less, significant than we

think we are in the grand scheme of things.