I’m Too Smart For My Own Good
I attended five different elementary schools as a child. I was actually on my fourth school by the time I made it to second grade. This wasn’t really the plan my parents made from the beginning, it’s just how things turned out between job transfers and divorce. Clearly all this instability didn’t kill me, but I do think it made it more difficult for me to connect with other kids. I was already on the shy side, so the parade of new buildings, teachers and classmates contributed somewhat to me being a bit of a loner.
Looking back, I think it was also in second grade that I figured out I was “smart.” My teacher had basically no information about me (I’m old so I’m pretty sure school records were hand written and copied with ditto machines and no one kept track of the reading aptitude of a seven year old anyway) so she did what any teacher with an unknown student would do, she put me in the lowest level reading group. No one one knew it was the lowest level, but it didn’t take me long to figure it out. We were the Jaguars. All the groups were named for animals and a jaguar sounds cool and fast but my fellow jaguars read at a snail’s pace. I started working my way up the animal kingdom and within two weeks I was an Eagle along with the other kids who could “soar” through all of our reading assignments. Let me tell you, I was proud of myself.
I didn’t have a lot going for me in life at that point. I was the new kid. I wasn’t athletic (we’ve covered that). I was chubby. My hair was…interesting (see pic for evidence). I came from a newly broken home. My mom was making ends meet but we didn’t have the money for designer clothes. All of that seemed to matter less the day I became an Eagle. I was smart. That was my “thing” and no one could take it from me.
And truthfully that’s the “thing” I’ve clung to for the 41 years since the day I earned Eagle status. We moved again before fourth grade and starting over was easier because I had that confidence in myself. Three years later a new house on the other side of town took me to a different middle school than the one I had attended the year before, but I knew my place and I quickly landed with other “Eagles.” Even now that I’ve been out of college for over two decades I still base a lot of my self-worth on my academic accomplishments.
I’ve come to see, however, that this can actually be a liability. It makes me too self-reliant. I think I can figure everything out on my own and am reluctant to ask for help or do things in community. Worse still, I find myself turning first to my own intellect instead of pursuing Godly wisdom.
If you grew up in a traditional church like I did, you probably remember memorizing Proverbs 3:5-6 early on:
Trust the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways, submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.
(Bonus points for anyone who can sing the song)
“Lean not on your own understanding.” Those words have taken me some time to work through. I mean, God didn’t create me the way He did on accident. It’s not a sin to be smart. Or athletic, or musical, or a leader, or to have any of the talents God may have doled out on you. In fact, God wants to use the talents He’s given me and you to help others, to grow us into His likeness and to show His character to the world.
It’s when I go first to my own mind and knowledge instead of looking to Him that problems arise. Proverbs 3 goes on to say in verse 7: Do not be wise in your own eyes.
That stings a bit because it hits oh so close to home. I think another way of saying that is: I’m too smart for my own good. I have to fight the reflexive action of figuring it out for myself and instead lay the situation at God’s feet first and ask Him for wisdom and direction. I can’t assume that I know best, but I know He always does.
You see God’s wisdom doesn’t always match up to my perception of wisdom, but it’s always for my good and His glory.
What are your strengths? Do they ever become a liability?
#toosmartformyowngood #confessionsofanotsolaidbackmom #mygoodhisglory
I Don’t Think I’m Use-able
Seven and a half weeks. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve worked out at my gym. It’s how long it’s been since I’ve been inside a restaurant, hung out with friends, gotten my nails done or done anything that seems or feels remotely normal. It’s also how long it’s been since I’ve written anything.
Now, I know we’re all supposed to have a bunch of extra time right now (all the people with kids can join me in hysterical laughter) but it hasn’t been for lack of time that I haven’t written. The truth is, I have’t had much to say. At least not anything that wasn’t already being said.
You don’t have to search the interwebs for long before you stumble on to someone’s dissertation on how our pandemic reality is impacting every aspect of life. To be fair, I’ve enjoyed reading many of them and I’m glad that people are writing. I just haven’t felt compelled to say anything myself.
And I still don’t. At least not about pandemic life.
You see, the fact that I have’t had anything to say is what’s really been on my mind.
I’ve felt like I SHOULD have something profound to add. A few months ago I began feeling convicted and compelled to write and share truths that God was teaching me. I felt a calling to develop as a writer and teacher and pursue it passionately. A list of topics came tumbling out of my heart and I couldn’t write them down fast enough. It was a season of fantastic creative energy.
When social and business restrictions began and stay at home orders were issued, I knew in my heart that I needed to press the pause button on my plans. And I was ok with that. Until I wasn’t.
Doubt began to creep in and I started hearing that annoying voice inside my head say uncomfortable
things: You don’t have anything to write because you really aren’t that creative. You’ve clearly misunderstood - God isn’t calling you to anything important or significant. You aren’t capable of following through on this. You are’t smart enough, influential enough, attractive enough or thin enough for people to listen to you.
Inside I began to feel like an awkward, 14 year old girl again. (Pictured below with a rather unfortunate hairstyle choice.)
It’s astonishing how quickly that dark voice can permeate our minds, isn’t it? Fortunately, God’s voice is louder, His truth speaks more clearly and His light shines brighter.
This morning I was confronted with truth through the verse of the day on the Bible app I use:
Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”
Matthew 19:26
As I pondered that and reflected on the truth of those words, a weight began to lift. The truth is, it’s NOT up to me to generate profound things to say. Truth doesn’t even come from me, it comes from God. In the right season, at just the right time, He will speak truth through me.
I continued through my morning by reading a devotion* written by my friend, Simi. It was about Hannah who had experienced bullying and heart-wrenching disappointment over not having children. As part of the devotion Simi challenged readers to write down the labels and lies we’ve believed about ourselves. I completed the exercise and was hit hard by the truth that is my confession for today: I don’t think I’m good enough for God to use.
Wow. That’s hard to swallow. And it’s a complete lie.
Now, what is true is that there are people out there who are smarter, more influential, more attractive and thinner than I am. That’s a fact. But a further fact is this: those things don’t matter.
I’m a performance driven person and it’s hard for me to accept that intelligence, influence and physical appearance don’t equate to success. But in the counter-cultural Kingdom of God, the first are last and the last are first. God takes the unlikely, the outcast, the humble and raises them up and uses them in ways that you and I could never imagine. Things that are impossible for me and for you to accomplish, but are not only possible, but probable with God!
I don’t pretend to know how God will use me, but I will keep trusting that He can.
#confessionsofanotsolaidbackmom
*The devotion I reference is from I Am Not by Simi John. Available for purchase on Amazon.com
I Only Eat in Pairs
Jason grilled burgers for dinner last night and, as an extra treat, fried up some hand cut french fries. (We make less healthy eating choices when staring down the barrel of a global pandemic.) I had been on a conference call when the family began eating so by the time I helped myself to some fries what was left included the “dregs.”
They were still very good, however I had a disproportionate number of small pieces to enjoy. I’m very aware of this because I have an unusual habit when it comes to eating french fries. I sort them by size. At the beginning of a serving of fried potato goodness my approach is a bit haphazard. I generally don’t have space to fully assess each individual fry size. I eat the ones that seem largest first, but it’s not super scientific. As the numbers diminish, my method adapts.
Once I can see the entire field of fries, I pair them up by size and type. By type I mean those that are more potato-y go together and those that crispier and from the edge of the potato are paired up. If I have an odd number I’ll find one that can be broken in half to make it’s own pair.
I just re-read the last paragraph. Please send help.
I then proceed to eat them all in pairs. I should probably tell you that one of the reasons I do this is to make it easier to chew on both sides of my mouth evenly. I know. It just gets weirder.
As long as I’ve gone this far there’s no real reason to stop without making the full confession: I eat virtually everything in pairs. Preferably in pairs of pairs, so in fours, but I can handle it as long as there’s an even number. To clarify, this doesn’t apply to large items. I didn’t eat two hamburgers for dinner last night. I don’t have to have two apples at a time. But if the apples are sliced I darn well better get an even number of the slices.
Smaller items like m&ms, grapes, cheez-its, wheat thins (you get the idea) are simply better when eaten two by two. If I try hard enough I can probably make this biblical. Biblical or not, I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember and it really does seem normal to me until I start explaining it to others. I won’t go into the full system, but when I eat m&ms there’s a whole color pattern situation that also comes into play. Does making this information public count as therapy?
In all seriousness, while this behavior does flirt with neurosis, it’s not a full blown compulsion. I can and do abandon my strange standards when circumstances dictate I must. Nonetheless I derive a great deal of comfort and satisfaction by indulging in this habit. I’m left asking myself, why is this so important to me?
When I dig a little deeper, I start to hit the root of the issue. Chaos makes me uncomfortable but rules, systems and order make me comfortable. When I apply rules, systems and order to the small things in life I feel more in control. I like to feel in control. I’m guessing I’m not alone.
If the last week has taught me nothing else it’s definitely shown me that I am NOT in control. Every day brings a new challenge, a new question I can’t answer, more meticulously laid plans that must be changed or canceled. It’s exhausting. You know that already.
No amount of eating french fries in pairs is going to make this uncomfortable feeling go away. (This doesn’t mean I won’t be stress eating copious amounts of them in the coming days.)
What does bring me peace, however, is the truth that God is with me. None of this surprises Him and in Him I have no fear. I’m not trying to oversimplify what is in fact a very complicated set of circumstances, but as I navigate all the unknowns I’m grateful for the peace that only God can bring.
#confessionsofanotsolaidbackmom #coronavirus #pandemic #intotheunknown
Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.
-Joshua 1:9
I Still Can't Believe He's Gone
Five years. Five years that seem simultaneously forever and instantaneous. Time is odd like that.
Today it's been five years since my dad died. It wasn't a day I was expecting or had in any way prepared for. At 68 he seemed far too young to die. He had just bought a sail boat to live on for half the year. He was running a 5K the next week. He was in the middle his "last" big work project. (I didn't believe he'd actually stop working.) And he was my dad. Dad's are invincible, right?
In the five years since that day, life has been both bad and good. Which I guess is pretty typical. My baby sister got married. He wasn't there to walk her down the aisle. My big sister's marriage fell apart. I wasn't sad he missed out on that. We bought a new house. It's weird that I live somewhere he's never seen or even known about.
There are times I wake up from vivid dreams of him and question whether or not he's really gone. I think about calling him but then remember.
I suppose that's my confession today: after five years I still can't believe my dad isn't with us anymore.
Never mind his boat in my driveway, his leather chair in my den, or his "dad" coffee mug I bought him at Carlsbad Caverns on the shelf by my sink. Those things aren't supposed to be here. They're supposed to be with him.
I still have the last email me he sent me in my inbox. It's an article on peanut allergies - my youngest daughter is allergic to peanuts. Dad's email serves as a small reminder that he cared about the details of my life. That I wasn't far from his mind. That he loved me.
I didn't know where I was going with this confession until I wrote that last sentence. Those words remind me of my eternal Father. God cares about the details of my life. I'm never far from His mind. He loves me.
Those truths don't take away the ache in my heart, but they do give me hope. I needed a little hope today.
#confessionsofanotsolaidbackmom
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted;
he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.
-Psalm 34:18
I'm Not Even a Little Bit Athletic
It all begins with an idea.
It’s time for another confession. This one will likely be even less surprising than the last. But, nonetheless, I need to get it off my chest, so here goes: I’m not even a little bit athletic.
Shocker, I know.
In some ways this IS rather surprising. You see my dad was the exact opposite. He never met a sport or physical challenge he couldn’t master. I inherited precisely zero of those genes. My mom on the other hand, well let’s just say this apple didn’t fall far from that tree.
Armed with only my mother’s genetic material in the athletics department, I made my way through my first couple decades carefully avoiding organized physical activities. Now I wasn’t a complete failure because I’ve always been pretty flexible, consequently I was the Madison Elementary Trunk Flexion Champion of 1982 AND 1983. (I need to put that on my resume…)
As I got older I knew that, despite my natural indisposition for athletic pursuits, a sedentary life wouldn’t serve me well long term. I had to infuse regular physical activity into my routine for my own good, so in college I tried to go to the campus gym regularly. Doing this was a bit terrifying but I stayed away from doing anything that drew any attention to me. The recumbent bike strategically located in an out of the way corner was the perfect spot for me. As an added bonus the likelihood that I’d fall off was fairly low. Seriously, I’m really bad at this stuff.
Thus began 28 years of attempting to maintain a consistent exercise regimen. I’m about as good at that as I am at doing athletic things, so needless to say my record has been a bit up and down. I’d get on a great streak but something would come along to derail me and I might go months or even years without my heart rate climbing above 100 bpm.
Through the years there have been exercise options that appealed to me more than others. Once upon a time, I had a weightlifting partner I loved but she moved back to Canada so that fell to the wayside. The 5:30 am group exercise classes at the Y became my jam when my youngest was a baby but when my kids started school the schedule no longer worked into our morning routine. Then last November I tried a new class at our Y's evolved studio. It had been a hot minute since I'd done more than power walk and I'm not kidding I thought I might actually die.
We cycled, we swung kettle bells, we participated in types of torture I can't adequately describe. Perhaps the worst part were the treadmills. They aren't actually treadmills because they are powered fully by the person walking or running on them, but they look enough like treadmills to me. I'm terrified of treadmills. I got on one, trembling with both fear and exhaustion, and was instructed to shuffle sideways on the blasted thing. I did attempt to do this but quickly realized my lack of coordination and physical stamina weren't going to cut it. So I humbly stepped off the and shuffled across the gym floor. Not my finest hour.
After 60 minutes of class, I stumbled to the car and called my husband because I wanted to tell him one last time that I loved him. Fortunately the end was not as near as I believed in that moment and I lived to see another day. In fact, I lived to see another workout. I kept going and grew to love it. Now I can even shuffle sideways on the runner! (If I don't call it a treadmill it doesn't scare me as much.) And as a bonus, a friend of mine likes to work out there, too.
I had been doing 2-3 of these workouts a week when a friend casually mentioned that a relative had recently completed a 100 day exercise challenge during which she did some form of exercise every day for 100 days. Now the idea of that was intriguing. Could I possibly make that happen? I had exercised that morning so I decided to call that Day 1 and see where it took me.
I'm happy to say that as I write this I just finished Day 28. I don't get 60 minutes in every day, but I've completed at least 30 minutes of exercise for 28 days in a row and don't plan to stop. I've decided to make it a non-negotiable in my life. I was inspired by an article I read to stop asking myself IF I'm going to work out on any given day but rather, WHEN am I going to work out. It's totally changed my perspective and honestly it's easier than fretting over getting in enough exercise each week.
This perspective shift has impacted other areas of my life as well. I knew I couldn't prioritize my physical health over my spiritual health so I decided this "non-negotiable" approach needed to apply to the disciplines of daily Bible study and prayer, too.
Game. Changer.
Much like with exercise, I KNOW I need these things in my life but so often it's a challenge to squeeze it all in. Now, however, I don't look at studying the Bible and spending time in prayer as something to squeeze in my day. I look at them as necessities to my day. And, truly, they are. When I'm daily in the Word and daily talking to God my mind is renewed and my spirit is transformed.
As excited as I am to see my not-even-a-little-bit-athletic self tackling my fitness goals, I'm even more excited about how God is using His Word and His Spirit to transform me from the inside out. For the sake of those God places in my path, I pray the spiritual change is more noticeable than any physical one you might see.
#confessionsofanotsolaidbackmom
Physical training is good, but training for godliness is much better, promising benefits in this life and in the life to come.
- 1 Timothy 4:8, NLT
I’m Not So Laid Back
I have a confession to make: I'm not particularly laid back. Those of you who know me well probably aren't so surprised by this confession. My husband and kids certainly aren't. I've always been a bit *ahem* tightly wound.
There's no place in my life where my not-so-laid-backness shines brighter than as a mom. And there are no people who test my not-so-laid-backness quite like my sweet, adorable, headstrong, red-headed children.
Take this picture for example. We're casually roasting marshmallows for s'mores, right? With a professional photographer on hand. Wearing carefully coordinated outfits. Not so laid back. Do you see ear warmer head band thing Emelyn (my oldest) is wearing? NOT part of my plan. I can't look at these pictures, that are in so many ways amazing, without cringing over that ding. dang. ear warmer.
If I had it my way, my kids would always wear exactly what I pick, and shirts that were purchased with particular pants would always be worn together. No experimenting, no mixing it up. That's just chaos, people.
I have a friend who packed all of her daughter's outfits in gallon baggies complete with hair accessories. Her daughter knew to keep baggie contents together at all times. This woman might be my hero. She also might be more not-so-laid-back than me.
My kids, however, revolt against such beauty and organization which leaves me enduring ear warmer pictures and the "creative" outfits my children choose to wear in public. It's hard for me to watch. I do it anyway because I know I'm empowering my girls to express themselves and have ownership of their lives in a safe way within the safe boundaries of our family.
What I'm coming to realize is letting go of my not-so-laid-backness might be the best thing that's ever happened to me. You see, I've always worn this character trait as a badge of honor but the truth is it's really an expression of pride. It's a declaration that my way is the only way. It's another way of saying that no one else's opinion or desires matter. And that's not how God has called me to live.
God has called me to live in humility. One of the best ways to be humble is to admit my flaws. So I'm starting here: I'm a not-so-laid-back mom. This is just the tip of the iceberg. I have quite a few more confessions to make. So stay tuned, it just got interesting.
Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves,
- Philippians 2:3