My birthday is next April, and I will be 28 years old. There was a time when I couldn’t imagine crossing over 26. Mostly because my realistic imagination and ability to see the future is…well…non-existent.
I am having one of those days today. When what I need to do is write it out.
If y’all have read even a handful of the posts here, then you’ll know that this is a rather recurring need.
I just had a beautiful conversation with a dear friend that last 2 hours long. And left me feeling like this. Good, purged, and eager to share.
I won’t get into the entire content of our 2 hour conversation, because there were more words involved than I care to type out just now.
I will, however, mention a little blurb that someone shared on Facebook. A little something about not looking backwards because that isn’t the direction that I’m going. And I immediately reflected on the dizziness that always comes when I try to look backward in our van while we are driving down the road. It leaves me feeling sick and disoriented. Which…of course…is a great analogy for how I feel about trying to fill in the ___________ of who I am.
I’ve made an art of “looking backwards” and “looking in” and sometimes even drowning in what I find in those two areas. In recovery, self-analysis is the bread and butter of what occurs in those rooms. A mixture of speaking out what is inside and absorbing in the pain, emotions, and victories of others. It is something of an INVOLVED process.
At least it is for someone like me. Given to swimming in the deep pool of weighty thought far more often than is probably healthy. I pick to pieces everything around me. Exhausting myself more often than not. Then trying to take those pieces and form definitive, well-formed conclusions. I’m a bit of a people scientist I suppose. The mad kind. With just enough education in psychology to make me wicked deadly with theorizing and guessing. You get where I’m going with that? Probably.
There is one person that I do this with above everyone else.
The picking to pieces. The mad scientist. The perpetual student of psychology.
Science suggests that it is not the best idea to experiment on oneself. No? I guess I missed that lecture. Or just dissected it beyond recognition.
This may not surprise any of you, but it did surprise me, more than a little bit, when my friend suggested it earlier. That maybe, no definitely, I don’t see myself as clearly as I think I do.
Not even going to pretend that I hesitated to agree. I was all, Yep. Uh-huh. I needed them words today, dear.
I needed to hear that maybe I’m still more of a _____________ than a period. That God is still in the process of writing in to the empty spaces of my heart and mind the person that He wants me to be and that He is sanctifying me to be for eternity.
That even though I know to find my identity in Christ and not in my struggles that maybe I’ve let it become more of an excuse than a truthful evaluation.
Been a bit lazy, I have, in my self-analysis. Because I failed to see that I might just be wrong in some of my “well-thought out” conclusions.
And maybe I’ve been wrong for a long time.
Content to be settled on being a “certain” way and accepting the same ole, same ole from my ongoing self-monologue.
Content to only hear what it is my head and exclude anything that comes from an outside source. Like, psh, a compliment or honest, genuine observation.
Content to label myself. To box in what God is doing in me. To limit what He has TAUGHT me to only what I can work into my present theory of self.
I’ve read four different blog posts in the last hour or so that were all reflecting this same strange dialogue. Of hearing and rejecting. Of self-talking and concluding. And some of those dear individuals were hurting, bombarded, and satisfied with their fluid understanding of self. With their ever-changing theory.
Like me. Rootless…whimsical…given to making self-assessments from emotion and from looking back and from embracing old, comfortable lies.
Instead, I’m renewed by Jesus. He is Light. He is weight. He is righteousness. He is a perfection of contented self that I will not and cannot copy in this life of mine.
He has given me the power, however, to not just LEAN on His life but to put all of my faith and identity and heart and soul into the reality that He did it knowing I couldn’t. For His glory and my good.
Praise the Lord.