When I lived in Guatemala, I first heard the story of a deeply-held belief system in some of the Mayan communities. It was known as "limited good," and it went a little something like this:
There once was a village full of people who were trying to survive, to feed their families, to stay healthy, to avoid catastrophe. Worshiping the gods was a part of this survival. You weren't in control. The gods were. And you wanted to stay on their good sides.
So if, one day, a neighbor of yours fell into fortune, if he were blessed with an extraordinary crop or another animal or some material possession, you began to despair. Because here's how the world worked: the gods possessed a finite amount of blessings which they rationed out, a concrete number of them. And if your neighbor got one, he'd just used a blessing up. One that could have been yours or your children's. So you could not celebrate his fortune, because it had cost you. It was a gift which now was not yours, and your chances of being blessed had just been reduced.
I may shake my head at this belief, but the reality is, I often operate as if it were true in my very modern, very progressive, very evolved society. When a wonderful, happy, joyous turn of events happens for a friend or neighbor, can I celebrate it? Or am I threatened by it? Is my gut instinct to view it through the glasses of How It's All About Me and Why Aren't These Wonderful Things Happening In My Life? When it is my turn to have thrilling news to share, don't I know, deep down, that there are friends who will jump and scream and cry and pour the champagne with and for me? And don't I also know that there are friends who I will postpone telling, because they will observe my happy news through a lens of limited good, through a lens that twists the tale and makes it impossible for them to celebrate alongside of me?
I'm learning, in my rapidly-getting-older-days, that it's almost easier to be a friend in the bad times. We can deliver casseroles and say, "I'm sorry," and send cards and texts to check up on each other. And don't get me wrong: that is so very, very necessary and healing. But life is hard. It's often excruciating. So when the gifts of life happen, what if we were able to be secure in the fact that the rain falls on all? That our ship will come in, and it might not look at all like our friend's ship? That there is enough good to go around, infinitely.
