where waves grow sweet

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power.” Ephesians 6:20

I have been a coward. Despite my roaring, growling attempts to prove otherwise, there has been fear at my core. Fear of failure, fear of inadequacy, fear of rejection, fear of anything and everything. Which, in turn, creates a wad of self pity leading me to grieve my difficult temperament and lack of talents, as well as to envy preferable traits in others.  A tar pit mentality of hopelessness sets in, rendering me paralyzed and useless.

When challenges come my way, this little voice inside cries out, “Run away! Run away!” The urgency and conviction in this voice compels me to run fast and hard. So I hightail it with my hair flying behind me and the contents of my hands tumbling to the ground. I gain a safe distance and feel an immediate sense of relief, quickly followed by a gnawing sense of shame. Nobody likes being a scaredy cat. But more than that, I just know it isn’t who I am.

At work last week, my failures shamelessly exposed themselves, parading around like drunken teens.  There was just no way to silence them. And I knew it wasn’t going to stop there. With events to plan, countless details to manage, and social awkwardness to face – all on display for a visiting executive – I was certain that more failure would follow. It became very clear that I was in the wrong job.

To justify my impending dash, I expressed to God that I simply couldn’t do what He was asking of me. That I just wasn’t made for this sort of work and certainly wasn’t graced with the mind or talents for it. And – hello! – didn’t He ever stop to notice I’m shy and insecure? Is it really necessary to put me in all these required social settings where I can’t hide in a corner? It ended with a desperate, “Please, God, you’ve got to get me out of here.”

Following that pitiful, escapist prayer, I once again felt the Holy Spirit stilling my internal chaos. I mustered up the courage to tell Him that I would like to stay at my job and do it well, but it seemed impossible. I sat quietly and expectantly, waiting for His warm, comforting sentiments to fill my soul and make it all better.

That is when I got a holy smackdown. The Spirit of God said something like this: “Quit whining. Get over it, and move on.” It was like ice water hitting my face, which was exactly what I needed to snap out of my stupor. I didn’t feel condemned, and I didn’t feel coddled. I felt loved and challenged. I was being called out by my Dad to something greater. And, in the process, the impossible got flipped on its head.

Running didn’t seem so desirable anymore. And continuing haphazardly with a pocketful of excuses didn’t seem too appealing either. So I set out to do a good job with who I am and what I have. I have been working from a new place of authority – one of belonging. And, to my surprise, I am cranking it out and doing a mighty fine job. Of course I will fail again, but that was never the problem. Fear was the problem. But I am seeing that in Christ, I’m not the coward I thought.

After a lifetime of rebellion and willfulness, I’m finding a safety and joy in what is good and right. Less and less do I find myself stomping, kicking, snorting, and tearing a destructive path to freedom. I now find myself laying down that very freedom for something better, and am being given so much more than I could ever take.

**

I started writing this post while waiting for Cole to get out of school last week. It was at the tail end of a very intense couple of months, and I was highly anticipating the following Saturday morning when I could finally indulge myself in a rich, late, and lazy sleep. It is hard to describe how much I felt I had earned and deserved a day of rest.

My writing was interrupted when Cole jumped in the car. The first words from his mouth were that he had a detention on Saturday morning. I wasn’t mad at Cole – the detention was for tardies, which was partially my fault.  And I wasn’t mad at the school because I fully agreed with the consequence. But I was mad. Hopping mad. Mad that the freedom of my Saturday, my deserved and needed rest, was stolen from me. I could see the irony of the situation in light of what I had just been writing, but my fury was stoked and I could feel myself stomping, snorting, and starting to kick.

Then a very cool thing happened. The Spirit rose up in me and quieted my soul. In a matter of minutes, my anger was gone and I had fully embraced the idea of this detention. I was even grateful for it, knowing it would provoke change in a necessary area of our lives. I was able to walk Cole forward in what was right, and we made some changes to improve our routine.

Cole did his detention and had a great attitude. I got plenty of rest, and a good dose of joy.  It is possible – maybe even likely – that we will get another weekend detention, but it’s this sort of thing that is shaping us into the kind of people we want to be.

**

So I now come back to where this post started… finding joy in the narrow road of surrender that leads to every wide, open space.

My boss, Mike, was leading a recent board meeting. After lunch, during an earnest discussion of the topics, I noticed a small breadcrumb on Mike’s chin. Sitting across the table, I tried to catch his eye and sent increasingly obvious signals in his direction. But my attempts availed nothing and the tiny distracting crumb stayed put.

After the meeting, I went to the restroom where I noticed a seed in my teeth… an enormous black seed displayed prominently between the front teeth I used to flash my winning smile throughout the afternoon. I erupted in laughter before the mirror as I realized the absurdity of obsessing over an insignificant object on Mike’s face while hosting a blaring one on my own. What was that verse about taking the plank out of your own eye before removing the speck – or crumb – from someone else’s?

A job possibility arose a short while back. I was almost entirely uninterested until I had an engaging phone call with the owner and the revelation of a great salary. By the following morning, I had mentally paid off my son’s books and uniforms, my trip to Colorado this Christmas, and the haircut I really need. I’d even gotten so far as to imagine myself moving out of my parents’ home, where I’ve been loitering for several years.

I sent off my resume and reiterated my strengths, which I darn well knew were not the ones he was looking for. He called me on it, and asked if I possess the qualities required for the position. The truth is that I have none of them. I am actually the antithesis of those qualities. Thinking about them makes me agitated and slightly nauseous. I told him so – with slightly different wording – and let the job go.

I was sad and kind of depressed … left with discontentment over my current job, a frustration with the size of my paychecks, and a sense of restlessness that has often plagued me.  I headed straight to Craigslist to find another job, but sunk lower when I realized that I don’t really fit anywhere. By the end of the night, I was chest-deep in self-pity, totally immobile, and sick of myself.

This next morning, I thought on things I know to be true and prayed for some clarity. As the day wore on, I had a growing realization that I fit pretty well at the job I’m at. The organization helps the poor, which gives my job meaning. My boss is kind and generous. He recognizes my strengths, appreciates my spunk, and tolerates my moodiness. I am growing in areas I would not otherwise choose to grow in. And because my job is not overly demanding, I have emotional resources to spend on other things I enjoy… like pestering my teenage son or starting a blog.

Under all that emotional muck and self-pity, I found a gratitude and contentment. I saw things from a different angle, and it changed everything without changing anything. Being an assistant may not be my grand purpose in life, but I am finding life exactly where I am.

In fourth grade, I went on a class trip to the museum of natural history. Trailing the class through the displays, I felt quiet. It all seemed strange and removed to me – extinct animals in strange scenes, dusty artifacts behind glass. The experience reminded me of stories my grandma told of the great depression – memories vivid and living to her, but utterly disconnected from me. I wanted to wrap my head around these things, but they all felt distant, dead, and done with.

The whole memory would have been washed away had I not made it to the gift shop where I found the most breathtaking object I had ever seen. It was a sliver of a geode, brown and rough on the edges, filled with the most lush, living shades of purple in a mesmerizing design. I felt like I was holding a valuable jewel, and I couldn’t understand why, of all the things in that museum, it would be unguarded.

My heart jumped when I saw the price and realized that I could buy this treasure with the small amount in my pocket. The joy of the discovery was crowded out by a panic that it might have been marked wrong. I pictured the cashier saying, “That will be $1,000 please” and that I, with my $2 in hand, would walk away humiliated. In my fear, I set it back on the shelf and bought instead a pencil with a pebble-filled top. I liked the pencil, but left without the thing that captured my heart.

This story makes me think of the love Jesus offers up – so unguarded and within the reach of anyone who sees its beauty, pure and living in the midst of the dusty and corroded things of this world. Yet how often we walk away in fear or ignorance, taking only what we feel is deserved or makes sense. We settle for inferior things when all the while there is this true, wild, satisfying love holding out its hand, calling to our hearts, and saying that it’s ours for free.