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).