A Case of Mistaken Identity

No Less Than Greatness
by Mary Manin Morrissey

As a minister, counselor, and teacher, Mary Manin Morrissey has inspired tens of thousands of people to reach higher in life than they ever believed possible. Her message is revolutionary: God has designed each one of us for greatness. And her warmth, candor, and conviction bring this message alive in the heart and mind of everyone who hears her.

As children we instinctively know that we are destined to live great lives. As adults we recognize that our true greatness is expressed in our relationships: in deep, fulfilling partnership, vibrant marriage, abiding closeness with children, parents, and friends. Yet fostering such bonds — even with those we cherish most — can be one of the greatest challenges we will ever face.

In No Less Than Greatness Mary affirms that love is our birthright — and learning to love well is life's greatest lesson. She shows that we are not alone in our search. When we learn to ask for and listen to divine guidance, we access a different kind of wisdom, a new kind of hope.

Beginning with her own surprising story, Mary shows how ordinary, struggling, or even estranged relationships are a curriculum for learning love, and how our relationships — and we ourselves — can be transformed.

Within these pages Mary provides a step-by-step guide to the spiritual principles that bring love into our lives. Her powerful affirmations, meditations, and exercises are designed to help you:

• reveal your true self — your most precious gift to others
• consciously design the relationships you most want
• open yourself to partnering with God
• discover the power of unreasonable giving
• achieve intimacy by speaking from your heart
• heal the hurt in difficult relationships
• awaken your love through simple daily acts

Let Mary Manin Morrissey show you that you already have what it takes to create what you desire most — and how, with God's help, even imperfect relationships can lead to perfect love.

At first, I was reluctant to show Michael my engagement ring. This eleven-year-old kid with a snarl on his face where a smile should have been, my future husband's son, didn't care for me particularly. Ed had called Michael after dinner on Valentine's Day, right after he asked me to marry him, and Michael had responded to our news with uncharacteristic calm: "Congratulations. That's fine."

Then he added, "Just don't expect me to come to the wedding."

Ed replied that he really wanted Michael with us on such an important day and would be very sad without him, but the boy had to make his own choices. Soon, the polite tones gave way to pleading and tirades and yelling and name-calling and after about two hours, father and son hung up, hoarse and exhausted. Then Ed cried, I cried, and, as I found out later, Michael cried.

Not a particularly auspicious beginning to this new chapter of my life, especially when I had some doubts of my own. I was forty-four years old, divorced after twenty-six years of marriage and with a burgeoning international ministry to run. I was uncertain about taking on a new role as a stepmother, having almost finished raising four children of my own. My youngest was sixteen. Ed had a second son, Matthew, who was, thankfully, easy to please, but he was only six years old. God, I asked, do you really intend to send me backward ten years? My identity, or so I believed, was as a minister and the mother of grown children, not as a car-pool captain worried about the high cost of orthodontics. Besides, I'd been so sweet to this difficult child, even holding my tongue when he swore at the dinner table, something I'd never have tolerated from my own children. I smiled all the time. I smiled so much my face hurt.

My face hurt because a phony smile contorts our identity, and being untrue to ourselves causes pain. Often we lose our identity trying to please or placate others. We lose sight of who we are while trying to mesh our lives with those around us. We compromise our values and beliefs to make others happy or simply to avoid conflict. But when we dance around others or put on masks and costumes, we cannot achieve the clear and honest relationships that open the way to love.

Once, Ed dropped Michael off with me for the weekend so that his son could get to know my youngest son and me better. Michael stood in the front doorway, shoulders hunched, eyes downcast, as if weighted down by his backpack. He had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, and I had my left hand clasped in my right, as if in silent prayer. (The truth is I was covering my diamond for fear that it would catch the late-afternoon light and shine in Michael's eyes like a beacon of bad news.)

I'd have done just about anything to avoid making that kid angry at me.

He finally pulled his hands out of his pockets to wave good-bye to his dad. Then Michael turned toward his future stepmother.

"Let's see it," he said, looking me in the eye for once.

I slowly unclasped my hands, holding out my left, as if for inspection. The single carat that had only hours earlier seemed subtly charming in its simplicity now looked showy and gaudy. Michael grasped my wrist with his left hand and began tugging at the ring with his right. Instinctively, I curled my finger.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Trying to pull it off," he responded, still tugging.

"And what would you do if you could?" I asked, momentarily grateful that Ed had bought a ring one size too small.

"Toss it down the disposal," he answered. Then he dropped my hand and without another word crossed over to the family room, where he plunked himself and his backpack down on the sofa in front of the Big Screen and reached for the remote. I started in on my speech about how I knew he already had a wonderful mother and how I didn't want to take her place, but I quit mid-sentence when he hit the volume button and Star Wars drowned me out.

The disposal. So that was where he thought his new family-to-be belonged. I'd been kind - excruciatingly nice, actually. Devastated by his parents' divorce, Michael was still a bit lost. He didn't fit in at school and rarely brought friends home. Under the circumstances, I could overlook his manners and behavior, I told myself; the poor guy had been through enough. Besides, I wanted him to like me. So without a word, I headed into the kitchen to start the potatoes for dinner - Michael's favorite, mashed russets - and took care not to peel directly over the disposal.

I managed to keep a smile plastered on my face not only that evening, but over the next few months, whenever Michael spent time with us. He would refuse to shower, brush his teeth or comb his hair, and I let it go. Inside, I'd be seething. I wanted him to shape up. But maybe if I let him get away with a few unhygienic habits, I thought, he'd warm up to me.

It didn't work.

Copyright © 2001 by Mary Manin Morrissey. Excerpted by permission of Bantam, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

About the Author

An ordained minister since 1975, Mary Manin Morrissey is the founder and senior minister of the Living Enrichment Center, in Wilsonville, Oregon, which serves 4,000 people weekly. Her previous book, Building Your Field of Dreams, was adapted for a one-hour PBS special.