There's a saying, "The more I know, the more I know I don't know." In this season of transition, there's very little I take for granted. I'm no longer driven to make my mark on the world, but I am interested in making a mark in my world. My approach to time has changed, too. I'm much more of a day-by-day girl, now. One benefit of this approach time is being able to appreciate the process of life rather than only the outcomes. This weekend is a good example.
On Saturday I had a first date with a guy very different than my typical type. We've been getting to know each other for a few weeks now and the best word I can use to describe my interest is "intrigued." I don't know enough to know whether we should pursue things, but I don't know enough to say we definitely shouldn't either. In the past, I would have avoided the unknown by ruling him out. But I'm trying to do things differently. So we met and ended up having a really good time.
One of things that most attracted me to him is that it's clear from his relational history that he is able to love well. By well, I mean unconditionally. He's weathered some things I can't fathom, and has come through with a remarkably positive view of love and marriage. Those of you who know me and my own relational history understand that this is a rather irresistible trait. As we talked throughout the day, his outlook challenged me to be more free (less fearful) about the process of loving and be loved.
I'm reminded that everyone we meet has the power to influence us for better or for worse. As for my Saturday date, I'm better for having met him. I hope he feels the same way.
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Monday, July 10, 2006
Monday, May 02, 2005
The World As Best I Remember It, Volume 1
A recent conversation reminded me that we often have the emotional resources to persevere during a crisis. It is typically later, when the immediate threat passes that we tend to fall apart emotionally, or maybe finally allow ourselves to experience the emotions we had kept at bay. In an email last week to friends and family, I offered a blanket apology for not keeping up on relationships (or life, for that matter) since sustaining a mild traumatic brain injury in January of 2004. Realizing that the emotional aftermath comes, well, after, the trauma, I discover grace for all these messy feelings that now overwhelm me. I lost most of a YEAR of my life. I realized a lifelong dream when my first book came out, but I don't remember. I've done interviews and events, but I don't remember. I've met people, important people to me, but I don't remember. I shared my heart and my life with others, and they with me, but I don't remember. Everything from January 21, 2004 until sometime in November is lost in a fog that won't clear.
My speech therapist had me journal while I was off-work. I've journaled since high school, but this was different. These rambled writings record the events, but not the emotions, of my lost year. I hate that I feel like a spectator in the history of my own life, relying on others to tell me, through their eyes, where I've been and who I've become. Thus, the emotional flood and the unsettling question: who am I now?
Some very dear friends have walked with me closer that I realize, and I suppose others have simply wondered where I've been, why I'm gone, or maybe haven't wondered at all. As my health and mental endurance improve, it's humbling to see that life has gone along just fine without me and now I wrestle to figure out where I still fit in. Everything has changed. Friends have married, had children, moved away and moved on. My little church group that previously provided my everyday friendships has grown considerably, and those who knew me before are far outnumbered by those who've met me since. Those who were closest to me before are closer to others now. But perhaps the most unsettling realization is that I have changed. Formerly the uber-independent woman, I now realize that I need much more than I like to admit. Not just on a physical, please-drive-me-around, help-me-with-errands kind of a way, but on the much more vulnerable, emotional, please-love-me-because-God-created-me-to-be-a-relational-being kind of way. No longer do I want to conquer the world. I just want to make sense of my world.
I suppose on a spiritual level, I'm the same person: A created being in desperate need of her Creator Savior. But my priorities have changed, my goals have changed, my hopes have changed. Accomplishments and accolades aren't nearly as important as the contentment of commited relationships and knowing that I'm a priority to those whose relationships I have prioritized. In case I ever doubted, the physical is fleeting. There's a lot I've loved about my life. I've been able to do a lot of wonderful things: travel the world, write a book, pay off my debt, own a home, adopt a puppy...And while all those things are great, at the end of the day, I know what it is to need, and I don't want to be alone. I've made lists of to do and to have before feeling "ready" for marriage. I realize now that you will never be ready. You can never get all your ducks in a row because only God knows how many ducks there are. While chemistry and attraction has an important place, I realize that confidence in the security of a relationship depends more on character and a capacity to commit.
I can work and plan and prepare all I want to be the best friend, best wife I can possibly be, but ultimately, it's a matter of the heart. Will I choose to love when it isn't convenient, easy or attractive? And from the other side, will I choose to let myself receive love when I can't give anything in return, when I am the one who needs, when what I need is embarrassing to admit because it is so basic?
This stage of my healing has been the hardest. Before, I was unable to comprehend the seriousness of my injury. My emotions were up because ignorance was truly bliss. Now I know what I have lost and I grieve what I cannot get back. I struggle because now I can experience moments of life as it used to be and rather than celebrating those periods, I'm frustrated at their fleeting nature. I struggle because my desire to be fully recovered is not enough to make it so, and that One who can make it so continues to say, "Not yet," or, I fear, "Not again in this life."
If you are a person of faith, I covet your prayers:
* for ongoing healing, especially fully restored mental endurance to carry a full load at work, with reserves to be able to keep up with home, relationships and life.
* for a new vision for what God intends for me. The old vision has expired and I need desperately to discern His direction.
* for the ability to accept myself for who I am today and see myself through the loving eyes of my Father.
* for restored trust in the One who promises to provide good things--even in the midst of hard things.
My speech therapist had me journal while I was off-work. I've journaled since high school, but this was different. These rambled writings record the events, but not the emotions, of my lost year. I hate that I feel like a spectator in the history of my own life, relying on others to tell me, through their eyes, where I've been and who I've become. Thus, the emotional flood and the unsettling question: who am I now?
Some very dear friends have walked with me closer that I realize, and I suppose others have simply wondered where I've been, why I'm gone, or maybe haven't wondered at all. As my health and mental endurance improve, it's humbling to see that life has gone along just fine without me and now I wrestle to figure out where I still fit in. Everything has changed. Friends have married, had children, moved away and moved on. My little church group that previously provided my everyday friendships has grown considerably, and those who knew me before are far outnumbered by those who've met me since. Those who were closest to me before are closer to others now. But perhaps the most unsettling realization is that I have changed. Formerly the uber-independent woman, I now realize that I need much more than I like to admit. Not just on a physical, please-drive-me-around, help-me-with-errands kind of a way, but on the much more vulnerable, emotional, please-love-me-because-God-created-me-to-be-a-relational-being kind of way. No longer do I want to conquer the world. I just want to make sense of my world.
I suppose on a spiritual level, I'm the same person: A created being in desperate need of her Creator Savior. But my priorities have changed, my goals have changed, my hopes have changed. Accomplishments and accolades aren't nearly as important as the contentment of commited relationships and knowing that I'm a priority to those whose relationships I have prioritized. In case I ever doubted, the physical is fleeting. There's a lot I've loved about my life. I've been able to do a lot of wonderful things: travel the world, write a book, pay off my debt, own a home, adopt a puppy...And while all those things are great, at the end of the day, I know what it is to need, and I don't want to be alone. I've made lists of to do and to have before feeling "ready" for marriage. I realize now that you will never be ready. You can never get all your ducks in a row because only God knows how many ducks there are. While chemistry and attraction has an important place, I realize that confidence in the security of a relationship depends more on character and a capacity to commit.
I can work and plan and prepare all I want to be the best friend, best wife I can possibly be, but ultimately, it's a matter of the heart. Will I choose to love when it isn't convenient, easy or attractive? And from the other side, will I choose to let myself receive love when I can't give anything in return, when I am the one who needs, when what I need is embarrassing to admit because it is so basic?
This stage of my healing has been the hardest. Before, I was unable to comprehend the seriousness of my injury. My emotions were up because ignorance was truly bliss. Now I know what I have lost and I grieve what I cannot get back. I struggle because now I can experience moments of life as it used to be and rather than celebrating those periods, I'm frustrated at their fleeting nature. I struggle because my desire to be fully recovered is not enough to make it so, and that One who can make it so continues to say, "Not yet," or, I fear, "Not again in this life."
If you are a person of faith, I covet your prayers:
* for ongoing healing, especially fully restored mental endurance to carry a full load at work, with reserves to be able to keep up with home, relationships and life.
* for a new vision for what God intends for me. The old vision has expired and I need desperately to discern His direction.
* for the ability to accept myself for who I am today and see myself through the loving eyes of my Father.
* for restored trust in the One who promises to provide good things--even in the midst of hard things.
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
A Word On Fear
I've been thinking a lot about fear lately. To be honest, thinking isn't the right word. Motivated by fear might be better…or paralyzed. Fear of the future. Fear of the unknown. Fear of rejection. Fear of failure. Fear of not being in control. I have come to realize that I have a lot of fears. As my 30th birthday has come and gone, I fear I'll never marry. Or if I do, that I will fail at it. I fear I'll never be a size six. I fear I'll let down my friends, family, church, fill-in-the-blank. I fear I'll let God down. This book has brought about many fears: I'm afraid my book won't be published. I'm afraid that if it does, no one will buy it. Or if they do, only from the bargain bin, and not from the best-seller display. I fear talking about it because some might not like what I have to say. I fear not talking about it because God has given me much to say.
I've been thinking how the experience of divorce has filled so many of us with fear. We fear because the ones who were supposed to demonstrate to us that love is an unconditional choice showed us that it is a fleeting, fickle feeling. We fear because we desperately desire to construct that which we have yet to experience and we easily doubt the adequacy of our materials. We fear because the risk it takes to be vulnerable and loved means intentionally allowing someone the freedom to hurt us, and we have experienced enough hurt to last our lifetime. We fear because we don't want to be the one responsible for making our own children feel what we felt. We fear because if we divorce, we become all we've lived our lives to avoid. We fear because we mistakenly believe that God is not capable of holding our marriage together when we lack the strength or desire to do so ourselves. We fear because we are placing our trust in our own abilities, when we serve a God who requires that we must acknowledge our utter inability to control our circumstances.
But you know what I'm realizing? Fear is self-centered. Fear is not trusting that God is in control. Fear is not having faith. I seem to recall that God is in control. Jeremiah 29:11-12 says: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you," declares the Lord, "and will bring you back from captivity." (NIV). I seem to recall that God has a plan that makes sense to Him, even when it doesn't make sense to me. I recall that Romans 8:28 promises that "…we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" (NIV). You know what else I recall? My weaknesses often serve as a backtop to display his strengths. 2 Corinthians 4:7 explains, "But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us." (NIV). Imagine a pitcher filled with water. When the pitcher is perfect, the pitcher is all one sees. But if that pitcher were to be slashed with a knife, the water would flow out, making the water the focus. Only in our imperfections, our failures, does God's grace and mercy become clear.
That still doesn't keep me from striving from perfection. I am comforted by the fact that the apostle Paul struggled with this too. He wrote in Philippians 3:12-13, "Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead" (NIV). No matter what our fear, we need to realize that is only through God that we can do anything worthwhile. As 2 Corinthians 3:5 says, "not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God." (NIV). Nonetheless, I want to be perfect. The world tells me that if I am perfect, I am then worthy of love and acceptance. Never mind that it's impossible. Never mind that my worthiness of love has nothing to do with my abilities or accomplishments. I am worthy of love because God loves me.
I John 4:18 builds on this point. "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears in not made perfect in love (NIV)". Doesn't that make your head spin?! I know I'm not perfect, but I also know that God loves me. Perfect love is divine. It is an attribute of God. Fear is one of Satan's greatest weapons. He can't take away our salvation, but he can try to take away our effectiveness. If we dwell on our fears, we are forfeiting our ability to be used of God. God has filled me with a passion to write this book. If God has purposed me to do this work, than how can I not succeed?
No matter if I fail.
God loves me.
No matter if others reject me.
God loves me.
No matter if I mess up.
God loves me.
No matter if let others down.
God loves me.
No matter…
God loves me.
Excuse me, I have some writing to do.
© Jen Abbas, 2003
I've been thinking how the experience of divorce has filled so many of us with fear. We fear because the ones who were supposed to demonstrate to us that love is an unconditional choice showed us that it is a fleeting, fickle feeling. We fear because we desperately desire to construct that which we have yet to experience and we easily doubt the adequacy of our materials. We fear because the risk it takes to be vulnerable and loved means intentionally allowing someone the freedom to hurt us, and we have experienced enough hurt to last our lifetime. We fear because we don't want to be the one responsible for making our own children feel what we felt. We fear because if we divorce, we become all we've lived our lives to avoid. We fear because we mistakenly believe that God is not capable of holding our marriage together when we lack the strength or desire to do so ourselves. We fear because we are placing our trust in our own abilities, when we serve a God who requires that we must acknowledge our utter inability to control our circumstances.
But you know what I'm realizing? Fear is self-centered. Fear is not trusting that God is in control. Fear is not having faith. I seem to recall that God is in control. Jeremiah 29:11-12 says: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you," declares the Lord, "and will bring you back from captivity." (NIV). I seem to recall that God has a plan that makes sense to Him, even when it doesn't make sense to me. I recall that Romans 8:28 promises that "…we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" (NIV). You know what else I recall? My weaknesses often serve as a backtop to display his strengths. 2 Corinthians 4:7 explains, "But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us." (NIV). Imagine a pitcher filled with water. When the pitcher is perfect, the pitcher is all one sees. But if that pitcher were to be slashed with a knife, the water would flow out, making the water the focus. Only in our imperfections, our failures, does God's grace and mercy become clear.
That still doesn't keep me from striving from perfection. I am comforted by the fact that the apostle Paul struggled with this too. He wrote in Philippians 3:12-13, "Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead" (NIV). No matter what our fear, we need to realize that is only through God that we can do anything worthwhile. As 2 Corinthians 3:5 says, "not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God." (NIV). Nonetheless, I want to be perfect. The world tells me that if I am perfect, I am then worthy of love and acceptance. Never mind that it's impossible. Never mind that my worthiness of love has nothing to do with my abilities or accomplishments. I am worthy of love because God loves me.
I John 4:18 builds on this point. "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears in not made perfect in love (NIV)". Doesn't that make your head spin?! I know I'm not perfect, but I also know that God loves me. Perfect love is divine. It is an attribute of God. Fear is one of Satan's greatest weapons. He can't take away our salvation, but he can try to take away our effectiveness. If we dwell on our fears, we are forfeiting our ability to be used of God. God has filled me with a passion to write this book. If God has purposed me to do this work, than how can I not succeed?
No matter if I fail.
God loves me.
No matter if others reject me.
God loves me.
No matter if I mess up.
God loves me.
No matter if let others down.
God loves me.
No matter…
God loves me.
Excuse me, I have some writing to do.
© Jen Abbas, 2003
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