True Story

I just finished reading a book. A book! I read something that wasn’t required for school! Despite my love for reading, this has been far too uncommon the past few years. It was called True Story: A Christianity Worth Believing In. It was about many of the questions that Christianity faces, to put it simply. I’m still processing, but I can say for sure it’s changed how I picture heaven and how I will present the gospel from now on. There was one thing that hit me especially hard. It wasn’t necessarily what the book said, but more what it made me think about. There was a section talking about forgiveness. Of course, I was confidently sitting on my high horse with a beaming smile, claiming that forgiveness comes pretty naturally to me; I don’t really hold grudges. After all, in general, the only people who hurt me are those whom I love, who are close enough to hurt me. And in most cases, I love them enough where, after some time, I have no problem forgiving them. They’re people who care about me in return, and having them in my life is worth sacrificing my pride enough to accept their apologies and forgive them. Essentially I was taking pride in the fact that I can set aside my pride in order to forgive, when I was faced with a realization.

I’ve heard the cliché phrase before, “I’m my own worst critic.” Or it may be “hardest critic” or something else of the sort, but either way, it’s most definitely true. Not gonna lie, I’ve put myself through a lot of crap. That’s what comes along with being a perfectionist—high expectations and a lot of letdowns. I was just reflecting earlier this afternoon on how I think I often appear more confident than I actually am…but do I really lack that much confidence? I don’t think so. I often feel like I know what I’m doing, at least to a certain extent—maybe not in the important things like life, but I’m pretty comfortable with knowing that I’ll never actually know that; what I need to know will come in time. I think the lack of confidence I so often experience is my distrust of what I’m going to end up putting myself through. I think I might be okay at forgiving others, but what about forgiving myself? I jokingly place the blame on others, even inanimate objects—like in racquetball, when I miss the ball because it was awkwardly close to the wall, it’s the wall’s fault. Or a joke between Sharon and me, “blame in on the Smurfs.” In reality, though, I blame myself for just about all of the negative things that have happened in my life. I overcomplicate, overanalyze, overreact…all to my detriment. Until my freshman year of high school, I couldn’t even laugh at myself. I’ve since learned to approach my downfalls with a little more of a sense of humor, but it’s still not easy.

This isn’t at all to say I should avoid responsibility for my faults and the wrongs that I’ve caused. Rather, I think I need to readjust my view. As a Christian, being forgiven is a huge part of my identity—why can’t I accept that? God expects me to take up my cross and follow him, entailing that I try (through his power) to become more like Christ and further the kingdom of God. Fortunately he doesn’t expect perfection from me, or even anything resembling it. When I screw up, it’s still wrong and I need to try not to, but it will be okay. Do I hold myself to higher standards than God holds me to? Something’s wrong with that. I need to stop, I need to forgive myself for the hell I’ve put myself through, for times I’ve hurt my friends and family, for saying hurtful things I don’t mean, and for the struggle that last semester was. Only then can there be reconciliation and reparation.

On another note, I figured out something else. Anyone who knows me well knows that I can often get somewhat jealous of my friends’ other friends. I’ve never been entirely sure of why. I think the reason is multifaceted, and I’ve speculated on many of the reasons and identified some, but I found another: I’m afraid the time a friend of mine spends with someone else will devalue the relationship that friend has with me. I had a hard time coming to terms with how ridiculous this was until I realize that it’s exactly what I do. When I go a while without seeing one of my friends, I still love that person (and always will), but they really do mean less to me. Even with someone I see on a regular basis, if I start spending my time with other people, I value my other relationships less. And here I am, afraid that my friends will do the same to me. It’s horrible, I know. I acknowledge that. I'm truly sorry to all those this affects. It’s something I need to work on.

So where does this leave me? I have no idea, but I’ve learned a lot today. I don’t know how this will affect tomorrow, but for now it’s time to stop thinking and sleep before my class tomorrow morning.

Humility: a puzzling subject

I found myself laying awake two nights ago praying, and I quite suddenly came up with the notion that I hadn't been praying very humbly lately. This thought surprised me a little, leading me to contemplate its origin. I concluded this: When I think of humility, I think of laying down my pride, sacrificing for others, resisting thinking critically of others, admitting my downfalls...none of which are easy tasks or processes. Therefore, I set humility on a pedestal as something unattainable that requires me to act entirely contrary to my natural character. To pray humbly, then, I assume I need to be constantly contrite, confessing the countless occasions on which I completely failed. When I was praying that night, I wasn't doing that. I was happy. I felt guilty for having an amiable conversation with God.

What's wrong with this picture? It's totally screwed up, but then how should one humbly approach God? With what level of respect should we address him? We epically fail on a daily basis; what degree of repentance is required? How can that be incorporated with everything else we need to pray about--requests on behalf of others, requests of our own, praise, and our thoughts that we want to share with our friend and creator? On top of that, how does true (not idealized) humility work in everyday life? Christians are called to deny ourselves, but I don't believe that means to give up who we're made to be in pursuit of a "humble" stereotype--to be humble I need to morph into someone who never exerts opinions or feelings, tiptoes around so as to avoid stepping on people's toes, always working in the background, quiet, never noticed, never outspoken, rarely enthusiastic. After all, Jesus' teachings are anything but stereotypes. In fact, these qualities aren't necessarily what Jesus advocates. How then do we deny ourselves but retain our individual qualities which are so integral to the body of Christ?

There's something in me that thinks I can't be humble and enjoy myself at the same time...humility looks different for everyone, but how does it fit into my personality and character? I think it's like a puzzle. No one is a whole, complete, put-together puzzle until they get to heaven. While on earth, following Christ is the act of putting together the puzzle--we're given access to the pieces once we accept Christ, then we connect the pieces of prayer, Bible reading, serving, all the fruits of the Spirit, humility, etc. to reveal the image of God. Everyone's picture is a little different, though, and their pieces are shaped differently. I guess then that I'm trying to figure out what shape and colors my piece of humility possesses. It's a fascinating thought. I'd love to hear feedback if anyone thinks they can add something of value--on your experiences, what you've found true in your life, how you might disagree, or whatever else you'd like to share.

The Return: Day 1

It would appear as if something were against me returning to school. First, the weather tried maliciously to stop me; ever-changing to foil my plans, then torrentially distributing snow, it desired greatly to keep me home. Fortunately, thanks to my dentist and his wise counsel, I won against the weather's wiles. I encountered no further problems until this morning as I was frantically packing so I could leave for church (and to school from there). My darling fish Ishmael, more fondly known as Ishy (the Fishy), decided to rebel. I was pouring him from his bowl into his travel container in the usual fashion. He normally tries to swim against the flow of water, but eventually surrenders. Today, he clung desperately onto the rocks at the bottom of his bowl, refusing to transfer homes temporarily, even once the bowl was completely drained of water--his second suicidal attempt in the past two weeks. I eventually got him to comply, but not until about three-fourths of his rocks were scattered all over my grandparents' kitchen sink. I was consequently late for church. Finally, upon my arrival to school, I rushed into my room, eager to get my milk in the refrigerator. During break, I had unplugged the refrigerator and put it in the shower so it could defrost. Little did I know, it had defrosted all right. What it hadn't done was drain. My suitemate, who had arrived the previous night, had drained it, leaving no evidence. With great difficulty, I moved it back into my room into its normal place and opened it just to discover the inside filled with mold. I've had quite the warm welcome back to the lovely, snow-laden state of Michigan, and I'm quite interested to see the new, ridiculous challenges I have to face soon.

(On a positive note, I'm glad to be back! It's wonderful to have a clean, organized, room to myself for a while! Plus I love unpacking, so this afternoon has been thoroughly enjoyable, and I consider my unfortunate setbacks as the humor to add excitement to my otherwise smooth, uneventful trip.)

So this is the new year...

...and I have no resolutions.

Resolutions and I don't do well together. I hold such high expectations for myself that any resolutions I've ever made have always been entirely unattainable. Yet each time, I'm shocked and immensely disappointed with my failure. Thus, I refuse to make them anymore. My dad thinks this means I don't have plans or goals. I do. My entire life is one gigantic series of webs, ever-increasing, spanning the back of my mind. Some people think webs indicate lack of use, like cobwebs; on the contrary, for me they are evidence of use. I guess that makes me a spider?

One thing I've been learning since the beginning of break is trust. Trust is like math--each lesson builds on the previous ones, and you can learn it your entire life and still never know it completely. This has made itself apparent in several situations that have really grasped my attention.

First, there is the issue of this summer. Since coming back to school, I've been trying to figure out what to do, where to be, etc. I wanted to be anywhere but living at home, working for Kraft again. It's something I constantly was dwelling on and bringing up in conversations. Finally, after being totally exhausted by it, I gave it up for a few weeks--probably from about the beginning of Thanksgiving break until the end of the semester. On the first Friday of break, though, I mentioned it to a friend, though not nearly as frantically as I had in the past. I believe there was even a deep breath that accompanied it. By that point, though I wouldn't admit it, I was already figuring I just needed to trust God with it. Later that night, I got an email from a professor asking if I'd like to teach English to Japanese and Brazilian students at my school for a month, July 8-August 11. Now I'm probably still going to be at home working for Kraft for the beginning of the summer, but how awesome is that?! I'll probably only be working for about 7 1/2 weeks. That's not too bad. Plus, it'll provide me with the money that I desperately need....which brings me to Trust Issue #2.

One night while at my grandparents' house, I became really concerned with my lack of finances. What college student doesn't need more money? I do tend to over-exaggerate how little money I have, but I figure it's a win-win situation: in reality, I'm not quite as poor as I think, but it keeps me from ever spending unnecessarily. Still, I have a car payment and I'm rapidly accumulating student loans, and I don't work very much while in school. The next morning, I just laughed at myself and gained consolation from the fact that my God WILL supply all I need. I'll admit I'm still having a tough time with this one, though--just today I found out that my already-few hours are being reduced by two each week. According to my calculations, cutting the Counselor Assistants' hours this much will save the school approximately $1100 this semester. For a college, that isn't a huge deal. For students, the loss of $60/month is. I was a little overwhelmed by this, but I'm trying to trust God that he knows what he's doing. My only concern is how I'm supposed to respond--do I do nothing? Look for an additional job or a different one that can give me more hours? That would probably mean sacrificing my completely open, three-and-a-half-day weekends. I don't want to do that, but should I? After comparing this to past events, I've concluded that I will intentionally not do anything, but be on the lookout for opportunities that might conveniently present themselves.

Trust Issue #3: school. I'm really ready to leave home, but I'm not ready to go back to school...at least not all aspects of it. I'm excited to once again have a routine, do something productive, and be around all of the people. I'm not so ready for homework or to return to anything even slightly resembling last semester. I am quite literally afraid to enter my room. Over break, I've gained some perspective, a LOT of perspective actually, and figured out much of what was wrong about the way I was viewing things last semester. I truly believe next semester will be better, but I can't help but be apprehensive. What if, when I go back, everything resumes as it was before? What if I screw it up again? What if all these plans I'm making to spend much more time with a few specific friends more often all fall through? This is my biggest one right now. I guess...I'll just keep hoping and praying.

I think that the opportunity to teach over the summer was God's way of saying, "Hey, watch, I'll take care of you," right before presenting me with other situations where I need to trust him. Just a thought.

Happy new year.

Trust

On the way to church tonight I was feeling rather contemplative and I was thinking, what does it really mean to trust someone? When you tell someone something personal and trust them with it, it's more than expecting them not to tell another person or not to think less of you because of it--so what is it exactly? It's just interesting to think about.

Results of spilled soup and disorganization

I'm kind of tired of this winter break thing. Being home isn't bad or depressing like I had anticipated at one point, but everything is just so...blah. I can't properly settle in because I'm not actually here that long. That's fine when I'm on vacation staying somewhere else, but I'm supposed to be home, somewhere I typically don't live out of a suitcase. Actually I take that back--in the past, when I'd come home from a trip, I put off unpacking until about a week later because I just didn't like doing it. But that's beside the point. I've tried to unpack, but things just don't have a place anymore. At school, I know where each and every thing goes--which drawer, what spot on the bookshelf, which cubby in my closet organizer, or just thrown under the beds or up in Purgatory--but it all has a place. Here there are no places for some things. There are no specific drawers for certain articles of clothing. My drawers and closet have been overtaken by things I don't know what to do with when I go to school, so I've just thrown them somewhere they won't get in the way or make the room look messy. I don't even have a place I can keep my fish semi-permanently. He's in my room but I have to move him to the bathroom at night because my room gets too cold, and he needs to be relocated every time I leave the house because I have to turn off the space heater which is what keeps the room warm in the first place. And wherever he is, the door needs to stay closed so the cat doesn't get him. I don't like it. It shouldn't bother me so much, and didn't until about two hours ago, but it does. Have you ever wanted to just not be anywhere? I cannot think of a single place I would like to be right now. I don't want to be here, but I don't want to be back at my grandparents' house where I just came from two days ago, nor do I want to be back at school--just the thought of that is somewhat sickening at the moment. I guess this is just me being cranky. Whatever.

Observations

Today, my dad took my car to get the oil changed for me. I'll admit I waited so long to do it partially for that reason--I knew he would. Not only that, but I didn't have much time with the end of the semester craziness, and I knew that if he did it, he'd know what else to get checked out. Like today, for instance. Not only did he get the oil changed, but he had the air filter checked, too. Apparently it was really dirty, preventing me from getting good gas milage, so he had it replaced. As if that wasn't enough, he filled up my gas tank. I really appreciate that. Naturally, I'd feel bad, but I think he likes doing it. I thanked him already, but tomorrow I think I'll give him a hug and tell him thank you again.

On a completely different note, I hate how physical appearances hinder people from getting to know each other, how they always alter a person's real demeanor and personality. I used to know a woman who wasn't very attractive. If you took everything she did and said at face value, though, it appeared as though she thought she was really pretty, and it almost made her seem conceited. To this day, I'm still not sure if that was true, or if she was just insecure in that area to where she overcompensated by acting a bit too confident. I knew her pretty well, and I still have no idea. It just bothers me. What would we be like if none of us could see each other? I think relationships would be far better, with friends, family, coworkers, neighbors, significant others...everyone. At the same time, I know we'd find other ways to judge and other facets of ourselves to worry about. What would we be like if we were stripped of all self-consciousness and could really act naturally? How would we see others? It's just interesting to ponder.