I always thought that when I was 16 years old driving around in my smurf-ish colored Honda Accord that one day far far in the future when I was a real bonafide adult….. say, 35 years old I would be rid of all insecurity and angst. But that far away future is now and I still struggle and grapple with me. I love, like and all together dislike who I am on most days. And every now and then in the in between I feel like I might have it all together only to be struck down by some area that I have altogether FAILED–like thinking you look pretty darn put together one day and then at the end of the day you glance in the mirror and you have mascara running everywhere and your skin is broken out. It’s never easy or fun to see your soul’s shortcomings or ugliness.
Lately, I just feel this little gnat swarming around my head humming in an annoying tune: you are not good enough. You know…..look over there….you are not as good of a mother as so and so–they do crafts and sew and you can’t even get a button back on your daughter’s dress. Not as good as a writer as so and so–they are way more productive and multi-task oriented than you. You just are taking care of your kids this summer—you slacker.
Truth be told I don’t know what end is up right now.
I am trying to pack up this ole house we sold in three days and move out in five days (which I need anxiety meds just writing that) I am going to miss this house like crazy because I transitioned from wobbly Lindsay— not sure of who she was or what she was suppose to be to the broken, but strong Lindsay–still imperfect, still longing for more, but sure of Who loves me and where my identity comes. Don’t get me wrong the mess is still there–just behind pretty french doors of self-acceptance. You just have to barely open them to see all the crap oozing out. Difference now is this : I own it. I own my free spirit. I own that I am going to mess up and need forgiveness from many,but I will give it my all at the risk of failing. I own that I do not have it all together. I own that I must be a good friend to have one. I own that I am accountable for the words springing off my tongue and I pray they bring light and not darkness. I own that this life isn’t about me and my hankering to just be comfortable ( even though Jesus knows that that scares me to my core) and I own that what I have and do is not who I am.
As I have been playing this game of tug of war with my inadequacies–dancing with them gingerly then slapping them when they get a little too close for comfort and step on my feet … often wondering Jesus, am i getting this living life thing right? Is there even a right? And what does it look like? Where does this right live? Is there a book on it or a formula for it because I am not sure I even know how to attain it or if I am even capable of achieving it.
Am I a better wife than I was almost 12 years ago? I do not know…I hope so. Am I a better friend? Do I listen and sacrifice and love not to simply receive but as an overflow of the love God has poured upon me. Sometimes. And other times I think I just flat out BOMB.
With all this nonsensical wandering in my mind, visiting all these towns of self reflection down paths of pondering–I have learned that I love the needy places in my life, the dirty places, the ones that don’t fit or make sense, the ones I try to hide from those that do not know me. Because running up to your imperfections and giving them a big ole hug allows you this odd freedom–you own them and they no longer own you. A God given confidence is born out of the humble realization that you do not have it all together nor does anyone else.
This past Saturday as I headed to a writer’s workshop, which I really had no business being at sense nothing has been packed–not a cup, not a bra,not a chair—nada, this whole am I good enough walked around in my mind…actually it stampeded like a herd of two ton elephants. All other thoughts had to pass through the gate of what does owning your insecurities look like?
And as Amy Lyles Wilson sent us off to write with the prompt of “I save”…..–me looking into the computer screen with jitters bubbling under my skin because I felt writer’s block just around the corner.
Panic wreaking havoc on any potential and half way decent thoughts.
Then this came pushing through.
This is what I save:
I save my insecurity and drink it when pride creeps under the doorstep of my conscience, for it teaches me that I am beloved by He that knows no end. I savor my losses and failures like a wine aged by imperfection and fuddle them when the plenty of life leaves me still parched for more. I relish my loneliness for it has taught me that this place where serpents dwell in darkness cloaked as light and half eaten apples leave you ever ravenous …..is but a perch to see that I cannot really fully see and that one day I will rise up from this place of toiled soils and fly beyond into clouds of glory. I save my lost loves because they have broken and molded me into an authentic version of my wayward self that clings to a plastic life of safety. I can and pickle my rejection and keep it on the middle shelf where my soul can reach it with ease and taste of it, for it has given way to a spirit of empathy which is a gift that opens up a fifth chamber of the heart. I salvage the rough edges, the prickly places like a treasure–only I know where it is hidden under the worn planks of am I good enough? And I sift through the gifts of inadequacy and false shame and hold them for they have held me and freed me.
What do you save?
And since I have yet to conquer a summer schedule and writing–here are some updated photos to make you hopefully crack a smile
Roman thought it genius to dress Posey up as Izzy off of Jake and the Neverland Pirates...and somehow this very opinionated almost 2 year old obliged:)
Thanks as always for reading my messy words. I started a new venture this summer –helping people tell their stories (ghost writing and book proposal assistance). Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org if you have something you have been wanting to breath life into. Our stories are our greatest gifts.