Continued from Ego Climbing (Part 1)
The higher I climb, the more out of breath I become. It’s
like a weight on my chest. It’s pressing down. I can hardly breathe. My
expectations. Their expectations. Your expectations. I do something well, or I
appear to be a certain kind of person, and then I’m expected to continue being
that way. I write good blogs, I become filled with the Spirit, I speak in
tongues, I fast for 14 days. I expect it of myself and feel like others expect
it of me. And it’s a fair expectation, isn’t it? I’m obviously capable of it so
why can’t I always be that person? Then, when I screw up (which I’m bound to
do), I feel like I’m failing you, failing myself, and ultimately, failing God.
If I can be an amazing, compassionate, spirit-filled woman one week, why can’t
I always be?
I’ve been told that I’m pretty hard on myself. I’m seeing
more and more how true this is. In the process I’ve set myself up (and others
and ultimately, God) for failure. But how to stop it? How do I reach a point
where I stop expecting so much of myself? A point where, even if people are
expecting a lot of me and I’m not making it up, that it doesn’t matter to me
because all that should matter is God?
I guess it starts with the realization that out of all the
good things I’ve done none have been done on my own. When left to my own
devices, I’m not always a kind, compassionate, patient person. People annoy me.
Some people annoy me a lot. I get overwhelmed. I get tired. I forget to do my
devotionals. I don’t feel like writing a blog. Even if I try my words sound
empty, hollow, dead, utterly void of life.
And now it’s clear. Once again, I’ve been operating out of
my own strength. Wow, didn’t I say that in a blog a couple months ago?
Probably. Just because I wrote a good blog about it doesn’t mean I’ve learned
my lesson. It usually takes messing up a few times before I get it right.
Especially with the hard stuff, like relinquishing control, which requires
forsaking my pride. Admitting that I can’t do it.
Here I go again. I walk back to God with my head hanging
low. I’m ashamed that I messed up again, that I didn’t learn my lesson the
first time. Or the second. Or however many times He’s tried to teach me this
lesson. Embarrassed, I murmur, “I’m sorry. I was trying to do it without You
again. Please forgive me. I need you.� I feel a hand under my chin, tilting my
face up. I try to avoid His gaze but He doesn’t relent. I finally look up,
sheepishly, and there He is. Smiling. As His eyes dance over me He tells me He
loves me. That it’s going to be okay. He understands. He wipes a salty tear
from my cheek and tells me again how much He loves me. I take His outstretched hand and we keep
walking. One foot in front of the other.
