Selfish Love

                This last week several things have changed: my age, my employment status, and my outlook. As I celebrated with friends, I couldn’t help by drift in to reverie about the last year, and the one to come. In the midst of sweet notes, thoughtful gifts, and meals around the city, my mind kept being drawn back to the subject of love.

                A week ago yesterday my small group had a wonderful discussion about love.  Each of us brought our unique experiences, backgrounds, and ideas about that precious four letter word. There are so many ways it is expressed and received. We all ask, “what is love” and our vulnerable hearts whisper “baby don’t hurt me, no more” based on our history and hurts.  Throughout the discussion we each shared our views of God’s love—and related the difficulties of understanding and mirroring his perfect love. In the week that has passed, my heart and mind have mulled over the morsels from that night—a stew of self-reflection, inspiration, and conviction.

                Last night, in the midst of a large group, made up of mostly married couples, I began to really realize how selfish my love has been. Looking back—reflecting on my early 20’s, I couldn’t help but see just how unlike Jesus my love has been. Instead of loving the people around me because I am loved, I loved them to be loved. I wanted affirmation, approval, acceptance. I wanted to receive, not give.  I wanted to prove that I was loveable and worthy of being known.  It has been quite the humbling 24 hours to realize this—the depth of my selfishness and pride. But I’ve also been so grateful. Grateful that I’m acknowledging this now, not when I’m married (which I’m sure I WILL have to confront, daily).

Moreover, I am retrospectively filled with gratitude for God’s perfect timing. I am so broken by my selfishness—that cries out to be affirmed, to be acknowledged, to be the center of the world. Even in the last few weeks I can see how selfish I’ve been.  I can look back to my college years and see the wake of personal heartbreak brought on by the fact that my selfish love hadn’t been reciprocated. It has been simultaneously freeing and sorrowful. By God’s grace I don’t want to continue in the pattern of getting to know people so I can be known, of asking so I can share, of giving so I can receive. I want to grow in the grace of unselfish love—that seeks to know because I am known, to share because God shared his son, to love because I am loved.

When I come Alive

In the last hour I’ve written hundreds of words. Even as I went to shut my computer, I couldn’t stop the flow of words streaming from my soul. The dam of a year of busyness, study, and stress has broken and my mind is finally processing. As I’ve sat in the shade of an umbrella, my hair dancing in the wind as my fingers fly across the keyboard, I’ve realized this is when I feel alive. Writing isn’t just something I do to share my view or opinion—it’s part of who I am. For as long as I can remember I have taken time to write—even as I child I filled journals with notes and anecdotes. I am more aware of the environment around me, the people passing, the birds soaring—when my mind is engaged in writing. In the brief moments I look around I am soaking in the sights and sounds around me. Writing is what gets me excited—sharing my hurts and hopes through the written word is the way I am wired. My thoughts leap from one scene to another—often the theme of my posts leads to others—the last was about death—this is about life. Life is so much more than my work. Even today, as my future is more clear though contracts and signatures—I am grateful that who I am is not defined by my paycheck, my degree. the title of this post came from the song that flooded my mind as I attempted to draw myself from writing—switchfoot’s “Redemption” and the chorus “I've got my hands on redemption's side, Whose scars are bigger than these doubts of mine. I'll fit all of these monstrosities inside and I'll come alive”. In reality, writing is what releases the “monstrosities inside” and is what He has called me to do. It seems audacious to say that I’m called to write, but just like when a child I’m working with has a new “first”—it’s when I feel most alive. Writing frees me to hear His voice, to listen, to share and to relate. Writing, is when I come alive.

Confronting my fear of death—August 21, 2014

               It has been one of the most freeing things for me to confront my fear of death over the last two years. At first, I was angry—how could they die? Why would you take a father from his children, a husband from his wife, a grandfather from his family, a girl from her home? Why. I wanted answers. I was afraid that I would be robbed too—that I would suffer even more, and lose more people I cared about. I didn’t want to love anyone because that meant loss. I wanted security—not just for me—but for the orphaned, the widowed, the desolate. I was fearful because for the first time in my sheltered life—I didn’t ultimately get the answer I wanted—they weren’t healed, help didn’t come soon enough, death won. I was also scared to admit it—I had just spent months supposedly living out my faith—but really, I had been losing it. I had looked at the hungry children living amongst piles of garbage and human waste, I read letters scrawled on torn paper asking me to help them get away from abusive families, I had read the status announcing death, I heard the words—he overdosed and didn’t make it. In my prideful pain I wanted answers—just like they used to come; when I had faith like a child that daddy would take care of it.  I wanted to hear that there was hope; that death didn’t win—but the pain of two months of death after death shouted above the whisper of the Cross. In my anguish I forgot that God used death to bring hope. He defeated it—ultimately. But my type-A personality wanted answers for the day—not for the future. I wanted things to be right on my terms. I didn’t want to fear poverty, cancer, brain tumors, drug overdoses, and even old age. I wanted to have security.

               Looking back—I was using God to gain security instead of trusting him and having security. Trust me, it’s a completely different mindset. Being a North American, I expected immediate answers and conclusions—google answers my questions in seconds—why didn’t God? It was a crisis of faith that arose when I shifted my focus from who God said he was to what I wanted to get from him. I had been treating God like Santa—he gave me coal and I didn’t understand that coal wasn’t a punishment—it was a gift. The lumps of hard things—death, poverty, loneliness, injustice—were coals that were to be offered up and burned—as I’ve worked through each of these areas I can now see that the coals are burning and rekindling my faith. What I thought was the death of my faith actually served as the means to growing and strengthening it. I don’t have to fear death—through death Jesus won, heals, and refines.

The Fear of failure August 15, 2014

This is the first of three posts written yesterday, I will be publishing them throughout next week.

 

                “I've done my best, and I begin to understand what is meant by 'the joy of strife'. Next to trying and winning, the best thing is trying and failing.” ― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

I don’t want to live my life in the fear of failure. I don’t want to make excuses for not trying hard things simply because they’re difficult. Yes, I have hearing loss, yes, I am short, but we all have things that we think hold us back or define us. Last night, I watched a lady four inches shorter than me lose over half her body weight. She literally completed a marathon and her trainer seemed more impressed by her than he had by any other contestant. Countless times he remarked that she never let her height be her excuse.  It’s inspiring to not play victim to your past or your physicality.

                Growing up, I think I lived in a lot of fear of failure. I didn’t want to let my parents down, or give the girls who teased me any kindling for their fiery words. I didn’t want to rely on anyone or to see their disappointment. It was exhausting. Now, as an adult, I’ve been learning to let go of things that I let define me in my past—my height, my parent’s opinions, my status.  I once had an individual tell me that because of my hearing loss, “teaching would be something that would be hard for someone like you to succeed in”. My response “if I never did anything because it was hard, I would never DO anything. I don’t want to live life that way—bitter and holed up in a room because it’s easy”. But life is not easy. There are always going to be things on our to-do list, things that upset and overwhelm; things that hinder and hurt. As I approach my birthday, I can’t help but thing of all the changes this year brought—graduate school was difficult—it hurt to have 12 hour days, busy weekends, and an empty social calendar, but, I grew. One of my good friends once wrote that a seed has to die and be planted in order to grow, and each day that process is happening in a myriad of ways in our lives.

                I started this post almost a week ago, and already, so much has changed. I had an interview and accepted a job that I applied for last Friday—one that has benefits, room to grow, and more importantly, a chance to be mentored and hone my knowledge and skills. One week ago I didn’t know if I would have health insurance, or what the fall would look like. This past week, I met and was re-acquainted with friends, I was encouraged by my church family—not only the one I attend, but by friends from other parts of the city. I’ve been realizing that I feared failure because I put too much pressure on myself to live up to expectations that only I voice and only I see the need to obtain. I’ve wanted perfection where I can only do my best—starting out in my career, relationships, fitness. I can’t be perfect—I WILL fail. I will say stupid things, make mistakes in my work, and eat my weight in chips and salsa.

                I want to say that I would be this encouraged even if all the questions from last week were still unanswered—some of them are, but by God’s grace, others have been answered. But the truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know if I would—but I know why. I have failed to place my hope solely in Jesus—I am a perfect failure when it comes to faithfulness—but Jesus was perfect in my place. I don’t have to get the job, the insurance, the relationship in order to have security, hope, or love. The truth is, every time I seek those in anything but Jesus, i am putting my faith in things that will fail. But, I know the One who will not fail, and through faith in him, I don’t have to fear failure.

The Next Big Thing--August 2nd 2014

I wrote this post two weeks ago, and with the craziness of the master's exam and then a beautiful week of visiting family, I never got around to posting it. I wanted to share this tonight as I am looking ahead and excited for the open doors and mysteries in front of me.

     So today was the first day in the last 10 months that I didn’t have something I *should* be reading, writing, studying, or analyzing. I woke up and didn’t quite know what to do with myself. Last night, I received an email stating that I had passed my Master’s Exam—it was over, I can add three letters and two periods to my name—hours of work and studying all cumulated to this—reading an email on my phone while I stood in line at the bank. As relieved as I was; it all felt a little bit anticlimactic.  I mean, it is something that had been on my horizon for a while—an item on my not-at-all-exhaustive “five year plan”. But once all the work was done, I couldn’t help but think “now what?” I mean, I have a great job opportunities, and am looking forward to growing in my practical knowledge, but the last week as I stepped away from the busy pace of this year, I allowed myself to be reminded that I am more than a master. I have goals and dreams beyond academia and they are important too—just as much a part of who I am and what I want to be as a diploma.

                You see, even as I completed a milestone, I was already looking ahead to the next big thing. With two out of my three big goals accomplished; the last—one that’s somewhat out of my power to make happen, still lingers. My type-A, anti-procrastinator personality, wants to finish the list. But, life isn’t about lists and achievements, and if I try to make it that way I will always fall short—always be looking to the next big thing to give me a sense of purpose and worth. The only thing I can achieve daily is contentment. I have to choose to accept what God has given me today. The “next big thing” will get here at the perfect time—just as much as going to Kenya and getting my masters did. Looking back, I wouldn’t change how the milestones of the last few years happened—each enriched and stretched me in numerous ways. So tonight, I choose contentment. I am so blessed to be where I am, to have joy and peace, friends and family, a budding career, an eternal hope—and each of those are big things.