Perfection Doesn't Aim for the Stars

I know I've wrote about this before, but it's fresh in my mind and my heart again tonight, and this may be more for me than for anyone who reads this.
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I'm feeling a little bummed today. When I tell you why I'm bummed, you might laugh. It's honestly kind of a silly reason to be bummed, actually...

I got a 93% on a test today.

I know, I know, the majority - if not all - of you are thinking, "Man, I would've killed for a 93% on a test!" All of my friends in my undergrad years thought the same thing. I can't tell you how many times I heard them exclaim excitedly that they got a B- on a paper, or complain that the hours upon hours they spent studying still only got them a C on the test. I never studied, ever, and wrote my 5-10 page papers the night before or even the morning they were due...and always got A's, if not 100%.

But the times I didn't get those 100%'s were as agonizing to me as the C's were to my friends.

For me, not getting a perfect score was personal. It wasn't my paper that was flawed...I was flawed. Or else that's what I imaged my professors thought of me. The imagined disappointment on their faces when they read and graded my work was heart crushing. "I can't believe that Sara of all people would've gotten this wrong! I had such high hopes in her," and would shake their heads sadly as they marked off points in red pen. The 93 points I had received meant nothing...I had failed them on those 7 points.

But I could never talk to anyone about it. My friends wouldn't understand how anyone could be sad about an A-, and the only other "smart" people I knew were always a little smug and smart-assed about it. So for fear of seeming smug and smart-assed, I kept quiet, blushing and muttering an answer only if my friends asked what I got on the-most-difficult-test-in-the-universe. Looking back now, I guess the smug students were probably under the same sort of pressure I was feeling, but we didn't know how to explain it.

I couldn't really tell you exactly what prompted my perfectionism. As a kid I was shy and quiet around everyone except my family (who told me often that I was actually too loud), which led to a constant loneliness that I've struggled with since probably 3rd grade. But even shy kids want positive attention. Thinking about it now, I don't think I was really encouraged or praised for much growing up, my grades and maybe piano were the only times I got a genuine "That's great, Sara!" Everything else I did got, at best, a preoccupied, "That's nice, dear."

I got a C once on my 4th grade quarterly report card, and while I don't remember how my parents reacted, I definitely remember disappointment. Not necessarily from them or my teacher, but from myself. School was the one thing I was good at and I had - in my mind - failed. The one thing I gained approval for, and I had almost lost it. From then on out it was A's only; 100's were the best but I'd settle for 95's.

The thing about constant "perfection" though is that if you've already attained it and constantly maintain it, there's really nothing surprising or impressive about it anymore. It mostly becomes a little joke when I don't get a 100; "What?! Sara got a 99?! Oh, the horror!!" Said in jest, usually with a loving twinkle in the eye...but still the little arrows of accusation fly straight to my heart: "You're not perfect. They're not going to love you if you're not perfect. Why would anyone want to love someone who's not perfect? No one loves you."

And these lies started popping up in other areas of my life outside of school. A small stutter or misspoken sentence in a "normal" conversation in a group setting: "Imperfection!" the lies say, "It would be better if you said nothing at all. Better yet, just stay home next time, then you won't have to be around other people who would see your imperfection and therefore not love you." So I stay home. Boys I had a crushes on started dating someone else: "Imperfection! If you had been more beautiful, more noticeable, more perfect, he would have picked you! But don't let him see you, or else he'll see all your plain, stuttering imperfection and won't love you!" So I dress unnoticeably and don't talk to boys for years, watching my crushes all fall in love, get married, and have children with their beautiful wives.

But through the persistent love of several wonderful friends and mentors over the last decade, and I've finally begun to accept the Truth of who God has made me to be, and that He finds me beautiful and worth loving despite my "imperfections", and actually doesn't even see them because He's so besotted with me. By "begun", I mostly mean that I can say it out loud, and if I focus enough that all I see is His face I may actually believe it with my whole heart for a moment or two. He thinks I'm "more than just a beautiful mess" (to quote Matthew West) and it's messing with my heart...in a good way. But the scars still hurt, and lies that have been believed for decades are sometimes tricky to uproot fully. Sometimes when I think Jesus and I have finally gotten the last one pulled out, another root pops up and proves even trickier to dig out. Enter grad school.

This semester I started the Master's of Arts in Library Science program online through Mizzou. I love it!!! I don't know why it's taken me so long to start school again. I love learning, I love that feeling of figuring out something new and making connections to the things in my life that I've just been plodding through without understanding. God gave me as a beautiful gift a highly intelligent brain, and it feels great to be using it to it's full potential again.

And as you can imagine, up till now all of my assignments have earned me a 100%...until this test from last week. Instantly after seeing my grade on the test, my heart sunk and shame started creeping in again. I honestly opened up the test and quickly scrolled down to find the ones I'd missed, ignoring the 23 of the 25 questions that got full marks just to zero in on the ones I got wrong.

And right now I'm faced with a choice. Stew over this grade, and how it will affect my average for the class; or go completely against my own brain and heart and choose to believe something so radical I almost can't think it to type it out.........

I am still loved.....

and if possible I am loved even more so now simply because I dared to think it, despite the habit of self-hatred. It is so much simpler to just give in to habitual thinking, and my mind has been trained to despise myself when I am imperfect. But no...I am loved by my family and my friends, some of which are boys (no Dad, just because they are boys and my friends does not make any of them my boyfriend!! ;-P ).

But most importantly, I am loved by God...and in the end, that's the only thing that matters.

A Promise is a Promise (or: How my Stomach Tried Out for the Olympic Gymnastic Team this Month)

A few Sundays ago, my pastor spoke about how we press on through the difficult times by holding onto the promises God has for us. I could think of a few of the promises I've received over the years from God, but nothing really stood out to me. Jim told us to ask God for new promises to take us through our new seasons, but honestly my first response was, "Oh, I don't want to trouble God with another request." That's how I usually respond when people tell me God has something to give me. "It's ok, I don't really want to bug Him about it; He doesn't need to give me anything, let Him use it to bless others instead, I'm not really worth the effort."

Then towards the end of the service one of my dear lovely teens came up behind me and wordlessly gave me a leftover doughnut hole from the coffee shop. Just one. But it was my favorite kind, and as I'd been at church since 8am my stomach was getting a bit restless. I smiled at her in thanks (Jim was still preaching, so couldn't talk very loud), and bit into the doughnut. As I enjoyed the bite, I thanked God for the small morsel that held my hunger at bay for a little while longer till it was lunchtime. And He told me right back:

"I will give you what you need when you need it."

I paused mid-chew, amazed that I had heard Him so clearly, and that He had actually given me a new promise when I was avoiding asking Him for one. And it wasn't just a random promise out of the blue; I knew this one was supposed to be for the upcoming season in my life. I had just purchased a new-to-me truck, and the monthly payments on it were going to be a little more than I had anticipated, especially since I'd just moved into a new apartment where the rent is a little higher than I'm used to paying, adding on a few of those extra amenities like heating and electric and internet to pay for. But there it was clearly: God was going to give me exactly what I need exactly when I needed it.

I've walked with God hopefully for long enough now to know the difference between a true "Need" and a desired "Want." Sometimes, the wants seem terribly like needs, but really we can do without them. But something about the fierce love and claim that was in God's voice when He spoke His promise to me let me know that when the going got tough in the next season, I didn't have to worry about the true needs, that He would supply.

And boy, have I needed that Promise!

Unexpectedly, the sales tax on my truck hit me like a sledgehammer. And I didn't have the money to pay it. "Lord, where am I going to get this money in three days?!!" And with the largest bite of humble pie, I called my parents, who graciously loaned me the amount I needed. Boy, talk about something I didn't want, but definitely needed!! I'm almost 30 years old (yes, I know, I look much younger). I shouldn't have to go asking my parents for money! It was bad enough when I thought I wouldn't be able to get a loan without my dad co-signing for me, but having to swallow my pride and go to the bank with my mom so she could get out several hundred dollars in cash was quite a dreadful experience. 

But...God gave me what I needed when I needed it, even though it wasn't the way I wanted it to happen.

About a month ago at work, we found out that a great co-worker and friend was moving to another job. We, along with several others at the branch, made a great team, pioneering several new and/or improved programs and ideas at our branch, and to honestly become better at our jobs by simply encouraging each other. I had always said to other coworkers that I never wanted to be an assistant manager, but if he ever became manager, I'd apply in a heartbeat. The day he told us he was leaving for another branch, he pointedly reminded me that the assistant manager position was still open...twice. I got the hint, but was reluctant to apply. Did I have it in me to be in a manager position at a library, even if it was only as an assistant? 

After long talks with several people that I trust and respect, I went ahead and applied. And then proceeded to get really, really, really excited about it. I did research on the area of town where the branch is located, searching out their school website and finding new ways to interact with the community up there. The town looked great, the job looked great, and the pay raise looked great. 

The only thing that wasn't great...my nice, new little truck gets 14 miles to the gallon...and the branch is almost 30 miles one way from my newly signed one-year lease apartment.

I talked to several people about it, and almost everyone said that this sounded like the perfect opportunity for me. I did my homework for the interview (and had a blast doing it, I'm such a dork), and thought the actual interview went really well.

But the thing that got me the most about the whole process wasn't the job or the preparation, it was the butterflies in my stomach. I haven't been this worried since senior year of high school agonizing over the biggest decision of my life: what to do next year. My mantra back then was Matthew 6:32-33..."Your heavenly Father knows what you need. Seek first His Kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well." I realized that something in my heart desperately wanted God to be a part of this whole thing. So I prayed and worshiped and chose to focus on my Jesus instead of the job. It was hard, believe me! Every five minutes or so I would remember why I was praying and the butterflies would churn up the hurricane in my stomach again (What if they did hire me? When will I start? To whom will I leave my numerous duties at my current branch? Will I be adequate enough to do the job? What if they didn't choose me? Are they thinking right now about how I'm inadequate for the job?) 

But as I gave voice each one of those dangerous little butterflies (or should I call them buttery-lies?), I realized that none of them made me feel as loved and content and peaceful like I did when I was with the One who promised to take care of my needs. 

If I was to get this job, it would be because my Promiser made it happen. And what my Promiser wanted to happen did....

I didn't get the job.

Is my heart broken? Yes. Am I disappointed? Highly. Am I having to summon up a single iota of excitement for the same ole tasks I've been doing for forever (cough...a year and a half...cough cough) at my now still same branch? Definitely. 

Am I thankful that God made this happen? I have never been more sure about anything in my life.

Because it wasn't my friend and former co-worker who made the final decision, nor was it his boss. It wasn't my lack of managerial experience (because honestly, I don't have a lot of experience; I was kinda hoping the new job would provide it for me), nor was it the fact that the person who got the job has a degree in Library Science. It was God's decision to not give me the job. Probably because I was starting to look at the job as being the catalyst for my provision.

I am down to the last few pages of my current journal (this ties in, I promise). With my finances such as they are this month, I'm pinching pennies to fill my tank with gas, let alone to buy a new journal. But I found myself in Barnes and Nobel this weekend and decided to browse, cause I'm a sucker for unlined parchment bound in leather.  There was one journal that was exactly the kind I'd been looking for, but price on the back of the book was $12, or, to put it in perspective...4 gallons of milk. I put it down to keep looking, finding other journals with almost half the pages yet costing much more. I went back to the first one, thinking it was better than nothing; and there, on the front of the book, was a discounted price sticker saying it was $5. 

"I will give you what you need when you need it. Even if it's something as small as a journal, or something as large as the money to pay for your truck."

And I trust Him to do as He says. Because He loves me, and has proven Himself faithful. He is my inheritance, and that's all I need to know.

"Lord, You are my portion and my cup of blessing; You hold my future.

The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance."

Psalm 16:5-6

Thoughts on thoughts...

What would happen if at the end of each day I wrote down each and every thought that went through my mind? Would I be able to share each thought with others? Would I be ashamed to show anyone anything that I wrote down?

I'm a thinker. I think about a mile a second (some of my coworkers and my closest friends can attest to this). But I'm also a dreamer, an Imaginarian, if you will. Sometimes, my imagination let's me see things in ways I wouldn't have before. It gives me creative ways to describe how I'm feeling and how I see the world and the people around me. Honestly, I would rather write this whole blog entry as an allegory, it would come out much easier than me just saying it like it is. I don't have words for "like it is", but I could write you a whole story about a girl who had a hard time speaking but once she began singing... actually, now that I think about, I did start writing such a story, I should keep working on that.

But sometimes, when I don't want to connect with the "like it is", I escape to dreaming. And sometimes the dreaming leads to imagining how things should be, how they could be, how they might be. The problem is- most of the time, I don't do this dreaming with God. The dreams I come up with, honestly they probably won't happen. But I spend my time thinking about them anyway. Essentially, I am telling God, "Yeah, Your idea for this story of my life is ok and all, but I think it would be better if it went like this..." I'm putting my own imagination above the Great Imaginarian that thought all of creation up in the first place.

At some point, I wake up from my dreams, and find that I don't really like myself for thinking them, but also find that story I'm supposed to be living is duller, less vivid and alive. That I'm less alive than I was a few years ago. When did that start happening? How do I get color and excitement and respect for my story back again?

The thing is, God already writes down each and every single one of my thoughts. My good ideas, my bad ones. My life-giving dreams, and the ones that, upon reflection, bring me disappointment and shame. He sees them all. If I really understood that, why am I just letting my imagination run wild?

If I started writing my thoughts down, being truly honest with myself of each and every one of them (that I honestly can remember), maybe it will change how I think throughout the day. Maybe I'll start daydreaming and suddenly think, I'll have to write this down tonight. Will I have the courage and strength to stop if I recognize that the current train of thought isn't one I'd want God to write down, or other people to read if I wrote it down? Some of my dreams are nice ones, seemingly innocent little day-dreams that are pleasant to imagine after a long day. But imagining I'm Cinderella for an hour before I fall asleep doesn't actually make my Prince show up at the door; instead it makes me bitter and filled with self-pity when I look at my less-than-romantic life and ask God, "Where is he, already?!" (As if God would send me my Prince, or anything else I demanded, in any other time-frame than His own.) I don't want that, that's not who I am, and it's not how I'm meant to live life.

If I start keeping myself accountable to what I am thinking, maybe I'll be able to recognize the things I allow into my thoughts, say "NO" to the ones that lead me to prideful despair, and instead catch Jesus' eye and say "What are You thinking about right now?" I know from experience that this is a way better way to think through life...why did I stop?