Coming To the Table

I read something the other day about how your 20’s are a time of figuring out who you are as a person and what you believe in.  As a worker, as a lover, as a family member and friend.  While I was reading, I started reflecting on my own journey of self-discovery.  I realized that deep down, I know who I am.  The version of myself that I present to my husband and my closest friends is the version that’s not always pretty but is always faithful to its identity.  My true problem lies in my ability to trust the flawed and meager aspects of that person.

Don’t we all long to be beautiful?  To be successful?  To be interesting?  I am so guilty of constantly playing the comparison game.  I begin a conversation and immediately commence evaluating how her shoes are cuter than mine, how he is more cultured than I am, how they can afford to eat out more and experience that aspect of what Portland has to offer, even (humbling to admit) how his faith seems deeper and more authentic than my own.  So I begin to adjust that version of myself throughout the conversation.  I bend and alter until I feel like I’m on equal footing but have lost sight of that person I know deep down is better.

Hear me on this: I do not say better as in I really DO have cuter shoes and deeper faith, but rather better as in more authentic.  Vulnerable.  Honest.  Better than the comparisons and the judgments and the fear.  Better than laughing at a movie quote I don’t recognize because I’m too afraid to admit I don’t get the reference.  How hard could it be to just admit “I don’t know much about music, but I’m pretty into books”?  It’s not better or worse, it’s different, and thank God for those differences in this world.

I stopped writing on my blog because I lost sight of the deeper convictions among all the clutter.  I was consumed with the amount of blogs out there, the narcissism sword pointed at my generation, and the feeling that I just didn't have anything new to say.  I came back because of the small voice telling me I may not be more interesting or have new things to say, but I will always say it differently.  There is no one in the world who thinks exactly like me and believes all the same things I believe.  The more I dwell on this truth, the more I am convinced it is true.  There will always be someone writing more passionately, more convincingly or just plain better.  But if I learn to present myself as is -->flaws and all, I believe there is something beautiful and wild, something a little…well, untamed about it.

It’s the new way that I feel God is challenging me in this season.  To believe that I have something to bring to the table, to ANY table, just because I am me and no one else can say that.  

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Preparation

If you've been keeping track, you must be aware that my job is ending soon.  If you've been paying attention, you'll know that is quite a cause for celebration.  If you know me in real life, you might perceive how petrified I am.

For the last 3-4 years, my life has pretty much been all about kids.  Babysitting, classes, nannying, student teaching, mini-teaching, more classes about how they learn, how to teach them, and then nannying some more.  This is my comfort zone, even if I'm unhappy in it.  I know kids, I'm good with them, and I can ace any interview involving them. 

And now.  Now I'm getting ready to venture into this completely unknown space where there are no kids and none of my knowledge base matters.  I'm so. so. SO unbelievably ready for this place, but I'm also scared out of my mind that I won't be welcome there.

I know my personality.  I'm a hard worker, I love learning new things, and I am organized and professional to a fault.  But personality doesn't show up on a resume, and so as I read job descriptions and begin to think about the application/interview process, I have never felt so unprepared for something in my life.  The idea that I'm not actually technically qualified for jobs in most any area outside working with children, and that therefore someone will have to be willing to take a chance on me, is, well, unnerving to say the least.

However... my fear has forced me into an unusual place.  I pray all the time about this situation, knowing that for me to find the right job for me in this time in my life will take nothing short of a miracle.  It's nothing I can do on my own, because I don't have the skills and experience needed.  So I pray before, during, and after I look at job descriptions.  I'll be praying later today as I try to piece together a resume that focuses on skills acquired but doesn't include wiping noses (or butts for that matter), teaching the alphabet, or my repertoire of children's books.  I'll pray over each email, phone call, or interview, knowing that only with God's help will I end up with something that makes me happy.

I will not allow myself to settle for another nannying, preschool worker, or babysitting job.  I am determined to be patient (not my strong suit...sigh) and wait on the Lord while He does the work of preparing me and my future workplace for each other.  And wouldn't you know it, in all that praying and practicing patience and forced reliance on God, I'm feeling a little less afraid and a little more hopeful.

When I have good news, you'll be the first to know. :)

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Growing in Winter

One thing everyone talked about upon discovery of my impending move to Oregon was how green things stayed in the winter.  Now, for a word of context here, when you tell someone you're moving, you discover that every single person on the planet has traveled to the exact coordinates you will be moving to, and they are a virtual guidebook of advice, recommendations, and words of warning.

Many of these are false, and you should ignore approximately 74.3% of all such outpourings.  However, this green winter thing is completely true.  I didn't realize just how true until I visited Oklahoma over Christmas and sliced my foot open on the sharp, dry, brown, drab, yucky "grass". (Exaggeration.  No such slashing occurred.)

Despite what "those people" told me, all trees here are not evergreen trees, and some do lose their leaves and look just as dead as any of their Midwestern counterparts.  Or so I thought.  Imagine my surprise, then, when last week I noticed all brown trees and bushes beginning to grow fur.

Or at least that's what it looked like.  Upon closer inspection, there is a variety of grayish-green, fuzzy-looking moss-ish substance on these "dead" trees.  At first, I was horrified.  This ugly, parasitic growth was disgusting!  Preying on these innocent trees attempting to hibernate for the winter, how dare they/it??

However, the longer and closer I looked, the more beautiful it became.  There is something magical about seeing the foliage I had assumed was done producing, ready for a long season of barrenness, coming to life again.  Though it was not the life I anticipated, it was lovely in a completely unexpected way.

What that tree is experiencing resonates with me and gives me hope.  Though there is no snow on the ground, I am experiencing my own winter.  I feel barren quite a bit lately.  My heart's desire is to pray, yet no words come.  I long to read my Bible, but I can't seem to focus on the words.  I ache to cry out to God, but I seem to have lost my voice.

And yet.

This tree assures me that something is happening inside of me.  Though I feel no movement, I find hope that there is a slow growth occurring inside my heart, a clearing-away of that which seems beautiful but lasts for only season.  Though it may appear ugly at first, it will become enchanting.

As I continue to struggle toward a firm foundation for my life and my marriage, I will take comfort that winter does not exist for God, but instead He is always planting, watering, and waiting for the fruit to appear.  I will take notice and eagerly wait alongside Him.