Frustration.
That is what I feel around 4:30 in the afternoon every weekday. No matter my day and how it went, 4:30 chimes and my mood shifts.
At 4:30 is when our host comes to pick us and drives us along dirt roads with pot holes that threaten to launch us out of the back of the tuk tuk with every bump. He drops us off, two by two, at the nightly English classes we have been teaching for the month.
And every night as I awkwardly stumble out of the back of the tuk tuk truck bed, without fail, my mind has one thought.
“I am not a teacher. I wish I was anywhere else but here in this place, failing these students, frustrated with not having any idea what the heck I am doing.”
Example. My very first class I wanted to learn all of my students’ names. I asked them to individually come and write their names on the board.
I have come to learn it is always easier to learn names and how to pronounce them when I see them written out. So as they walked up, I gave myself a mental pat on the back at my genius idea of how to kill time and bond with my new adoring students at this point.
Each one came and excitedly took the marker and confidently wrote their name on the board. In Khmer.
Which looks like this:
I had no idea how to explain to write it in English, because I tried, and not one of them understood.
Day one was a rip-roaring success.
Frustrated, I shrugged it off and chalked it up to because I am not a teacher.
Thinking back to last July after going to training camp I made a conscious decision to no longer say, “I can’t…” This year was going to be all about being a doer and conquering new mountains, casting aside the attitude that I was not capable of doing something.
This year I wanted to do everything. So I stopped saying ‘I can’t’ in order to get the full experience and pull every last adventurous drop out of this year.
But lately I realized I have found myself replacing the statement with, “I am not…”
I have said a lot of statements this month that began with, “I am not…”
Actually I have begun statements with that too much this year in general.
I am not a teacher.
I am not a preacher.
I am not a cook.
I am not a soccer player.
I am not a writer.
I am not a painter.
I am not a singer.
I am not a farmer.
I am not a nurse.
I am not a logistical person.
I am not a researcher.
I am not bold.
I am not confident.
I am not ready.
I am not equipped or prepared.
I have taken away the thought process of whether I am capable of doing it or not and instead just flat out refused to identify with it. That way if I was bad at it or other people looked at me strangely, it would be ok, because I am not that.
It all boiled down to a singular thought, I am not the right person for this, and the jumbled word web of ‘I am nots’ stemmed off of it. That way, I gave myself a cop out. If it is not who I am, I can hold no fault.
But I have been wrong. So, so very wrong. Every statement I have began with ‘I am not’ is exactly who I have been called to be.
Everyone of those statements, this year, I have been whether I wanted to or not. Every time I have said I am not something, it gives the enemy the upper hand and launches a live grenade into my self esteem, identity, and relationship with Jesus.
Each time those words came across my mind and passed out through my lips was because I was being challenged to be just that.
The Lord was challenging me to take on the identity of something that was as uncomfortable as wearing an itchy, wool sweater in the middle of the summer heat.
The identity of something I could fail at.
And I have basically been throwing it back in His face like a stubborn, rebellious teenager, screaming in a hormonal rage that this is not what I signed up for. But you see, it is exactly what I signed up for.
Bethany found a picture earlier this week I could not stop laughing at, but found the relevance all too close to my heart.
I signed up to be a hot dog in a room full of princesses. Called to be whomever and whatever the situation calls for, no matter how out of place or ridiculous I look or feel.
This past weekend I got a spot of Wi-Fi for a few hours. I scrolled through Facebook aimlessly until I realized my heart rate was increasing and I began to suddenly feel restless and anxious.
I identified the problem when I came across a picture of friends at a wedding back home. Weddings on my facebook newsfeed at the life juncture I am currently in is nothing new. But this particular sunny Saturday, eight, count ‘em eight, separate weddings adorned my newsfeed.
And the thought spiral began there with ‘I am not married.’ I have no desire to be any time soon, but it began the ‘I am not…’ statement train chugging through my brain.
As all of them ran through my thought processing, I saw them for what they were. Excuses.
Excuses to not step into the person I have been called to be this year, called to come home in a month and a half as. Excuses in order to have an escape if I fail at that particular task. Excuses to let myself off the hook if someone is better at it than me.
Excuses to divert the situation away from me for not truly believing or knowing the ‘I am…’ statements in my life. Excuses for not knowing where my identity fell or ignoring what the foundation of my identity needed to be based upon – Jesus.
One day I will have my ‘I am…’ with a profession finishing the statement, but for now, and always, my ‘I ams’ are meant to be crystal clear in how they are to end.
I am a sheep.
God is my shepherd.
He will direct me wherever He best sees fit.
He asks I only jump on board with Him, and dare to be a hotdog in a room full of princesses.
