First Things First

God spoke to me this morning

My apologies for sending this so late.

You see, I started writing about a little moment in a coffee shop in Greece when someone asked me about the latest news from my country. That tiny moment turned into writing about shame, belonging, and the surprising complexity of wanting so badly to be Canadian. It became… not exactly newsletter-sized. Truthfully, I have a lot more work to do on all of this.

So instead, here’s another moment from my morning this week….

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My self-image is that I wake up, meditate, listen to the birds, wander through my garden, and contemplate the mysteries of the universe.

What I actually do is stumble, bleary-eyed, into the bathroom and immediately pick up my phone. I tell myself I’m checking to see if Pia has sent photos from New Zealand.

Then, somehow, Instagram opens.

I scroll with one eye open and one eye still shut, alternating eyes until eventually they both decide to cooperate.

This particular morning, I first landed on a ten-year-old singing her heart out on American Idol. They always look so unassuming, and then they open their mouths—and I burst into tears.

Every.

Single.

Time.

How are they this talented at ten years old?

Now I can’t see because I’m crying, so I go back to the one-eye trick until I land on my beloved Jane Fonda.

Good God, I love this woman.

She’s talking about justice, courage, and standing up to corruption. I find myself sitting a little taller, wondering what I could possibly do to help change the world.

Jane Fonda just keeps going.

Next comes Oprah interviewing an older man who has just written his first book. I haven’t even read it yet, but I gather he spent his life as a musician, then a lawyer, then a judge… and only recently wrote a book that spread entirely by word of mouth. Apparently, he also grows flowers and gives them away to strangers walking down the street.

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I haven’t written a book yet.

And I hoard my flowers, for the birds and bees. 

Then, to make matters worse, I look at Oprah and think about everything she has done with her life.

Clearly, everyone else is changing the world while I’m sitting on the toilet.

So I put my phone down on the old radiator that hasn’t worked in years and fold my hands in prayer.

“God,” I say with complete sincerity, “please help me. Please tell me what you want me to do next.”

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And then, as if from on high, a voice answers.

“Mehera…

Wipe your butt.”

I laugh so hard I nearly fall off the toilet.

The cats, waiting impatiently for breakfast around my feet, scatter and stare at me suspiciously from around the corner while I howl with laughter in the gray morning light.

So…

I wipe my butt.

Feed the cats.

Look at my to-do list.

“Rats and gnats,” it says.

Oh no.

Not yet.

Instead, I make my coffee and wander out into my gloriously overgrown garden, still laughing.

God—or the universe—or my own ridiculous mind—is both incredibly funny and surprisingly wise.

The message was clear.

Clean up your own shit first.

I’d much rather skip ahead to writing a brilliant book, giving away bouquets, and sitting on Oprah’s couch talking about how enlightened I am.

But apparently…

First things first.

With love,

Mehera

P.S. Has God ever talked to you while you were on the toilet? If so, what did He say?