Monday, December 12, 2005

Incapable.

On Sunday morning, I was still wide awake at 4:30 after a late-night, staring at my ceiling. The man upstairs (n.b. this is not a metaphorical reference to 'the man upstairs;' it is an actual reference to the man who lives in apartment eight) was pounding on the ceiling and talking loudly on the phone, where I assume he was conversing with relatives in India.

I rolled out of bed and started fumbling through my kitchen in the dark looking for my journal. Seeing it nowhere, I realized it must have been at the office...so I found my back-up journal and began scouring every corner of the living room for a Pilot V-Ball pen (I have about 20 of them, and they are always in various places like my purse, coat pockets, and under the microwave.) I was afraid Heidi was going to emerge from the guest room, convinced that I was showing signs of schizophrenia as I pulled off the couch cushions and dug through the closet, quietly chanting, "Where is a pen...where is a pen..."

I crawled back under the covers and let loose with everything that was rolling around in my head--most of which was neither pretty or self-affirming. I was pretty hard on myself, fuming about my behavior and my own desparation.

And what triggered it?

Lately, I have been the queen of high expectations...not the good kind of high expectations where I set big goals for myself and achieve great things...the bad kind of high expectations where I expect people and situations to live up to the fulfillment and joy I desire. Then, when this 'thing,' whatever it is, is over, I'm filled with rampant disappointment that my life didn't head off in a glorious new direction just as a result of this event that I have pre-determined will be 'meaningful.'

Mostly, I do this with social situations, like, 'I have pre-determined that this meeting with a student will be a turning point in our relationship,' or, 'When I meet Derek Webb, we will have a deep conversation about Politics and Faith, and he will ask me to co-write songs with him,' or, 'When I go with my friends to this Christmas party, I will waltz around the room as a glittering social butterfly and have an amazing time and make thirty new friends.' When the situations don't pan out as I daydreamed they would, I become horribly insecure that I've missed an amazing opportunity.

And I realized that the only reason to be insecure is if I'm presenting myself...Heather is something that I should be insecure about presenting the world...but Christ? There is no insecurity in Him...and were I presenting Him instead of myself in these social spheres that I find to be overwhelming and disappointing, I might not be so consistently disappointed.

At "The Upper Room," we're working through the book of John, and as I was leading the group in worship last night, I reaffirmed Nathan's message for the evening, where he shared the verse that should be the mantra of our lives out of John 3:30: "He must become greater; I must become less." That verse brought me to my knees, as I shook my head at these insecurities that have been plaguing me...and I come back to something Derek Webb says, "I'm so thankful that I'm incapable of doing any good on my own." I don't think I've reached the point of being 'thankful,' but I'm at least understanding the incapability...

(If I had a brain in my head, I would probably spend more time on the river, because it's one of the few things in my life in which I am always reminded of my own inadequacy. This is a photo of our trip on the Stilly River on Thanksgiving weekend).


3 comments:

Jimmy, Jennifer, Evelyn June and Arun Bradbury said...

Amen sister. Thank you for sharing your gift of words to say what the rest of us have a hard time even thinking. We say, "stupid tower." You say, "beautiful mess like all of us."

Merry Christmas Heather Baker.

Anonymous said...

Hi Heather..

I actually do read your blog most days. I just suck at commenting. It's amazing that Burlington is the place to be...for us anyway, since that's the only town that has anything to do and is the halfway point between our boring towns. sigh

Anonymous said...

oh my gosh heather. great idea