Congratulations, you made captain. You’re this year’s prom queen. You were voted Most Likely to Succeed. Best Dressed. Most Talented.
We were talking about senior superlatives a few days ago—titles and labels American high schoolers vie for. And if you didn’t care about landing a starting spot on the basketball team or about making the homecoming court or about being voted Most Attractive… kudos. But I encourage you to think about the reason for your apathy.
Perhaps you truly reached a maturity level at age 17 that I didn’t even know existed. Those people amaze me. Or perhaps you were defending against hurt by adopting an “I don’t care about that” approach to, in this case, high school.
Personally, I did care that my sisters always made homecoming court and I didn’t. “But I’m varsity cheerleading captain, and I have a 4.0,” I’d tell myself. I had to find a way to affirm who I was. I had to affirm that I was good enough. Honestly, I think I had to affirm that I was better than most of the people around me, including my sisters—two people I love more than anything in the world.
Our talk about superlatives in high school got me thinking about superiority as an adult.
At our last debrief in Nelspruit, our squad coach Betsy talked to us about performance and comparison. “We don’t always define ourselves by Scripture. We often define ourselves by what we have and haven’t done,” she said. She talked about Genesis 4 and how we’re wired to desire blessing and affirmation—to feel known and true. “At some point, we decide if we’re worthy of blessing or if we’re not. Those of us who think we’re worthy, perform. And those of us who think we’re unworthy, give up.”
I fall into the former category—the performers. The ones who often consider themselves superior rather than inferior. The ones who, as Betsy put it, don’t understand why everyone else doesn’t see them the way they see themselves.
I hate that about myself. But I don’t want to be a part of the other group either. I want something else, something better.
I want something that doesn’t seem easily obtained in our culture, where high schools communicate to an entire class that this one person is the most talented of the bunch. That this one person is the most attractive. That this one person is the smartest or funniest or most popular. That this one person is more worthy than the rest.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m a proponent of incentive and of a hard work ethic. I think healthy competition is good. It drives economies and motivates us to better ourselves. But as I step back and take a look at the 27 year-old me, I’m disgusted with the amount of superiority and entitlement pumping through my veins. I’m both sad and thankful that I’m finally seeing the ways in which my “I’m better than you”/"I deserve this" mentality has affected so many people, including myself.
In my case, superiority often shows its face through performance and dominance.
If I’m passionate about something, my tendency is to argue for it, which can result in the assertion of my opinion over another’s. Again, let me clarify what I mean—fighting for one’s beliefs, for biblical love, justice and truth is good; causing division and conflict over minutia isn’t.
This happened last week. A light-hearted conversation about travel turned serious and resulted in me dwelling on my arrogance the rest of the day. I thought to myself, “Julie, that’s not who you are anymore. Why regress?” I was frustrated and heavy.
And I was frustrated and heavy still when I woke up the next morning. As I stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing my teeth, the Spirit spoke to me (again). Just apologize.
I walked outside around 6 am. “Ugh, clouds.”
We were staying on top of a mountain in Swaziland at the time. The sunrises and sunsets were my favorite parts of the days there, and that morning—I felt cheated. Typically I’d sit on a huge boulder positioned on the side of the peak. I’d have some quiet time and stare at the mountains and at the river that splits them down the middle. But this time, I walked straight to the kitchen. I made some tea and sat down at the table. I started writing.
“I feel really bad about my conversation yesterday. And I know I need to apologize. What I said… it wasn’t what I meant. But it came out really terribly and really self-righteous. I just wish I didn’t act like that.”
Thirty seconds later, one of the people I wanted to talk to walked into the kitchen. A minute later, another. A minute later, another. I hadn’t expected anyone to wake up for at least another 30-45 minutes.
The four of us sat at the table—journaling, reading, sipping coffee and tea. My timing and orchestration is perfect. This is your chance.
I obeyed and apologized. The apology lifted the weight I’d been carrying around for nearly 24 hours. And it provoked conversation that led me to think about how deeply superiority and entitlement and performance and pride and insecurity have affected me.
I said earlier that I want something else, something better. What I want is to continue tearing down these walls and defenses I’ve built up. I want to be vulnerable. I want to be simple, not calculated. I just want to be me—the true, untainted, childlike version of me.
Before I started writing this blog that morning, I read My Utmost for His Highest. Oswald Chambers said, “In the Bible clouds are always connected with God. (…) The clouds are a sign that He is there. What a revelation it is to know that sorrow and bereavement and suffering are the clouds that come along with God. God cannot come near without clouds—He does not come in clear shining. It is not true to say that God wants to teach us something in our trials: through every cloud He brings, He wants us to unlearn something. His purpose in the cloud is to simplify our belief until our relationship to Him is exactly that of a child—God and my own soul, other people are shadows.”
I read that then walked outside. I sat on the big rock, and I stared at the clouds. And there in the presence of the Lord, I listened.
Without me, you are proud and insecure. Without me, you feel the need to perform and act superior. But I didn’t create you to be those things. And with me, you can unlearn performance. You can unlearn superiority. You are entitled to nothing but my adoption of you. And the things that come along with adoption are daughtership and discipline. With me, pride has no place. And with me, there is no need to be insecure. You are my daughter. Be like me. Love and serve. Stand against injustice. Fight for the oppressed. Humble yourself. Walk in obedience and strength. Pursue righteousness and do not conform to the ways of this world.
Christ came to set us free. (Galatians 5:1) And there’s so much freedom in dying to ourselves, in receiving a new life, and in accepting His call to discipleship.
If you can relate to any of this, I encourage you to read The Freedom of Self-Forgetfulness by Tim Keller. I read it in Ecuador and am pretty sure it’s time to open it again.
Peace,
Julie
The cloudy morning at El Sheddiah in Swaziland.
