I hardly know how to act. A week or so ago, I looked at my calendar and realized that my life has become underscheduled. This is a cataclysmic shift in my Universe.
I knew this phenomenon was coming. I wanted it. I planned for it. For a long time, I have been trying to capture a season of stillness. I have been telling myself to concentrate on the people most important to me. I have been telling myself that I should only take on commitments that speak specifically to my soul. I have been telling myself, as far as ministry goes, I should only do what only I can do.
The talking-tos I’ve given myself don’t usually land. More often, they crash. There is always someone who needs a little extra love and attention. There is always some activity that sounds interesting. There is always some need that cries out for me to meet it. I get caught in a weird dichotomy. I never think that I am the person who is best qualified to do anything, yet I always think that disaster will ensue if I do not volunteer.
Now that I’ve finally found some breathing space, I was not prepared for how it would feel.
As usual, Lent was a busy time. I had my array of Lenten activities to fulfill. I have also been leaning into a quiet ministry that I feel is my calling right now- providing support one-on-one to people who need love. I know a lot of people going through difficult circumstances right now. I try to be intentional about providing support and tender loving care in a way that speaks a language that the recipient best understands. Also, a very close friend in Florida picked this time to move back to Delaware. I was trying to spend as much time as I could with her and I wanted to participate in all the farewell events leading up to her departure.
As Lent wound down and I finished the planned activities, I realized that I was no longer having to look three weeks forward in my calendar to find a time slot when I wanted to arrange a date for something. I have plans on the schedule, but there ae no longer days when I have the calendar booked with back-to-back activities. I won’t have to break basic laws of physics to meet my scheduled commitments. My first reaction was a feeling of elation. For a few days, it felt so good to know that the wind of life was going to still to a gentle breeze.
Then, I got uncomfortable and flustered. I felt empty. I struggled with some decrepit demons about appearance and worthlessness that refuse to die. Finally, I realized that this reaction is rooted in a wave of insecurity. Some people fly into a flurry of activity because they feel their value comes from doing. The act of completing tasks and achieving and “being important” helps give their lives meaning. I’m not exactly one of those people. In fact, I dislike “being important” and the attention it brings. What I love and crave is connection. Attaching to people and becoming interdependent with them feeds my soul. Relationships are my coin of the realm. More scheduled on my calendar suggests more connections. When my calendar doesn’t feel overfull, I worry that my relationships will disappear. I feel I must force an intentional opportunity to keep me at the forefront of people’s radar screens, or they will detach from me.
If I am being rational, I know that more activity does not necessarily translate to more connection. I also know that the people with whom I am in relationship love me and will still love me even if they go more than a few days… or even a few weeks… without the awesomeness of my presence. I know that I have value and worth to a relationship that does not depend on busyness.
But…
What I know rationally has very little value in a conversation about insecurity. Neither does anyone else’s assurances. The fact remains that I am having an internal experience that is not congruent with reality. I can’t change it. Certainly, no amount of thinking is going to change it. Believe me, I have tried. It does not work. My stubborn heart does what it does. This time, I am not even going to waste the emotional effort of trying to force myself to feel the way my brain insists I should.
So, I go along for the ride. I pray. I meditate. I inventory my blessings. I move my body. I try to get enough sleep. I eat things that are going to make me feel holistically better instead of worse. I am gentle with myself. I surf the wave until it crashes to the shore. It will pass and I trust that I will be okay. I know I will recall the truth of my rational self. I know that God equips me in mysterious ways to be the person He created me to be.
This Lent, I realized I was standing on one side a rickety bridge. Beneath the bridge is a huge chasm of nothingness. The bridge looks shaky and difficult to maneuver. Truth be told, however, the ground on which I am standing- the ground of insecurity- is much more shaky than the bridge. On the other side of the bridge, there is steadier ground- an internal land in which I have a secure foothold on my sense of self and my worth. The other side of the bridge is the land where God’s perspective of me resides.
I would like to say that, during Lent, I courageously crossed the bridge and am happily on the other side. That isn’t quite true. This Holy Week, though, I did take enough steps to truly see the other side and begin to appreciate what living on that side feels like. This Easter, the work of my Lent culminated and the fruit ripened.
At the same time, Easter invited me to continue. Ripe fruit is delicious and I want more.