Heathen

It was a chilly morning at the coffee shop, not unusual for late November in Tucson, when an older woman struck up a conversation. We started with the typical pleasantries, such as the weather change and upcoming holidays. She told me how eager she was to see her family and grandchildren and asked me how large my family is. "Mine is rather small," I answered honestly. " And I've lost almost everyone in the last year and a half." A look of pity came across her face, and she prodded me for more information. Without hesitation, I allowed the woeful tale to spill.

"Last year, I lost my mother to a long battle with cancer, and a few months later, I lost my step-father, who felt more like a dad to me. I don't keep in contact with my step-siblings often and never had any brothers or sisters of my own. My father, who I don't have the best relationship with, and my uncle are the only family I have left. Other than my husband and daughter, that is." I explained.

"You poor thing," she cajoled, in an attempt to express kindness. "You know, they say God never gives more than you can handle," she added resolutely. Although I hadn't intended to be rude, I couldn't help but scoff at the remark. Her kind expression gave way to dismay. "What? You don't think that's true?" She chided begrudgingly. "Please, don't misunderstand me, ma'am, but I think we may have different views on this point," I explained. With her interest piqued, she enticed me to continue.

"You see, not only did I lose my mother and the man I considered my dad, I went on to lose my home in a fire, which also claimed my faithful companion. My dog was 15, and I knew he was old, but he held all my secrets and had been by my side through the trials and tribulations life handed me. My husband and I were grateful no one else was hurt, and we managed to escape with our lives, but it was another major blow to a family who had already been through so much.

"When everything was lost, it broke us. My husband cried out to God, demanding to know why everything had to be taken. He was angry with his God and felt like he had been forsaken." I noticed a twitch as I mentioned the words his God, but I didn't let that stop my story. "But I know my Gods aren't meant to be gentle with me. They are there to teach me and impart their wisdom, but they will not give me what they have earned so freely." The older woman's lips turned into an aghast scowl, and a gasp escaped her tightened throat. "What do you mean, your Gods?" She spat the words as if the belief in any Gods other than the Christian God was inconceivable. "I am Heathen, ma'am. A Heathen married to a Christian. He worships Yahweh, while I worship old Norse Gods.

"When I turn to Odin for guidance, he will not patch up my weaknesses with His strength. That is not Odin's way. He will throw everything he has at me. His intent isn't to coddle me; I know this. His purpose is to break me. Wisdom and knowledge come at a price, and he will gladly charge the full sum." I paused for a moment to gauge her reaction. When she did not interrupt, I continued.

"You see, Odin gave up an eye willingly to gain the knowledge and the wisdom of the universe. His sacrifice gave him what he desired, which is why he is known as the God of Wisdom. When one turns to him, Odin sees where their weaknesses are and will throw every challenge their way to force the individual to confront them. He saw how reliant I was on others; he saw that I would struggle independently, and he was right. My mother had always been my safety net, and my step-father my relief. My home had been given to me, not earned. My old boy was suffering, and I was selfishly keeping him alive in an attempt to cling to the past. Yes, I was given much more than I could ever handle. Yes, I was broken. But now I have the wisdom to know how to stand on my own two feet. I know I need to make my own life, and things will not be handed to me. When things are given to me, I know how to be grateful and take them for granted. Odin took everything from me, but he also melted my meek mettle and reforged it into the resolve of a humbled warrior."

I could see the words I had spoken turning in her mind, and the look of horror had faded from her face, replaced by a thoughtful expression. She finally broke the silence. "Your God teaches you lessons in the hardest way possible, but he doesn't seem too far from mine," she said. With a gentle smile, she added, "I will pray for your path to be a little easier." With a nod and a smile of my own, I answered, "The path of a Heathen isn't an easy one, but I would never change it. However, I do appreciate your kindness and conversation. May your family be well and your holidays be filled with love." With our coffee finished, we parted ways to probably never meet again, but both feeling the winds of change blowing as we move towards a new year.