“You are like the Swiss Army Knife of the spiritual realm.” I was once compared to tool/weapon that I wished to own as a kid. I did not want some thrift store knock off, I wanted the REAL one. The one that was made by the Swiss Army. I was a young girl who loved to poke, stab, explore and dig and having one would make me invincible. I would be the girl version of Indiana Jones. I didn’t need no stink’n whip, I had a Swiss Army knife. I would look for used ones at garage sales, thrift stores and flea markets. I found many knockoffs but never the real deal. Then one day with my dad out thrifting, I found one. The white cross across, the blood red, BINGO, the real deal.
I picked it up and felt its weight in my hand and just knew I had found the holy grail. It wasn’t rusted and as I opened each sharp part, there was not a broken tip to be seen. It was perfect. I wanted it. I had allowance money in my pocket. If I was with my mom, she would absolutely not allow me to get it, but I was with my dad. I was only short about 5 bucks. I sought out my dad and as I was multi-tasking, I noticed that there was a port in the upper edge of the knife that was empty. I could not figure out what would be significant yet small enough to fit there more so why isn’t it there any longer. Everything in a Swiss Army life mattered for life and death situations. I found my dad and was utterly crushed when he told me I was not old enough for a pocketknife yet and my mom would absolutely have his ass if he bought it. I asked if he knew what went inside the empty spot and he said, “nothing.” I knew it wasn’t nothing. I had never handled a new one to know and at this point I might never discover the truth.
It was not until my ADHD based obsession with Swiss Army knives had been replaced with something else that I got my answer in early adulthood. The spot was for a removable toothpick. A toothpick? A pointy piece of plastic? That is going to save your life in the Swiss Alps or wilderness, a toothpick? The more I thought about how many I had come across scavenging as a kid, where the toothpick was missing. One cannot appreciate a toothpick until you absolutely NEED a toothpick. It’s like you just assume one will manifest in that exact moment where your ribeye or broccoli is wedged nice and tight between your teeth. You are rummaging through every drawer, cupboard, glovebox or center console in your car finding anything that will release the debris. You hit a level of desperation that a dentist would cringe at by finding anything that will fit into the space.
The realization is that the Swiss Army knife is still functional even without the toothpick. It can do other jobs of importance and significance it does not take away the sum of the whole. The toothpick is simply stored in the space that’s been designated its “spot”. That does not mean you cannot put it in a pocket, and it is still fully functional. It does not have to put back in order to be what it is. It is still a toothpick even when it’s not being used as such.
As a practitioner, I have been blessed to be in spaces that were solely mine and shared spaces with others. The space and location did not factor into my actual purpose or the work that was performed. It’s like saying you cannot pray without a church, or you cannot find redemption outside of a holy space. This is about finding reverence in the smallest of things, and knowing the some of the most powerful things are things we cannot even see with our naked eyes.
The toothpick has a purpose and so do you.