Chasing After Me

I always apologize. For everything…seriously…FOR EVERYTHING.

Some of the things, I absolutely should apologize for.

But I also find myself apologizing…for speaking, for having opinions, for asking questions, for not saying enough, for not fixing something unfixable, for thinking I’m not good enough, for other peoples’ emotions, for my own emotions, for not doing something that was never expected in the first place…it really never ends.

Mostly, if I look at the big picture, I actually apologize unendingly for BEING myself…to the annoyance of the people in life who are most precious.

I always thought that trait was simply compassion…just how I’m wired.

Others might call it perfectionism.

My closest friends might lovingly call it an annoyance.

My (very wise) husband calls it ridiculously self-critical.

This week I’ve been reading Angry Conversations with God, by Susan Isaacs, and something LEAPED off of the page. I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I’m quite certain it was God Himself showing me something. Here’s the quote:

Susan, I think you keep apologizing (to God) because you haven’t accepted forgiveness (from God).

The thing is, it wasn’t the actual words on the page that got to me. When I read that passage over and over again, I saw something different:

Dawn, I think you keep apologizing (to those you love) because you haven’t accepted their acceptance (of you).

Wow.

The “Dawn” version screamed at me. The realization was startling. More startling, because I now realize I’ve rejected acceptance my entire life.

By rejecting acceptance, I’ve discounted the love that those closest to me constantly and unconditionally offer. And, by doing that, I’ve also rejected God’s attempts to tangibly love me through people who are His hands and feet.

It is the root of something that’s nagged me my entire life…something that has often made me feel lonely…something that has often made me feel insecure…something that could keep me from where I’m supposed to go.

Sorry for my mistakes…but no longer sorry for who I am.

Picture yourself holding a pitcher of water. Now picture yourself trying to fill up a cup with water from the pitcher. And now put your imagination to work…imagine that cup moving around like a fly that you’re trying to swat…speedily heading in every other direction beside the direction you think it might go…at light speed.

If that fly were a cup, and you were holding that pitcher trying to fill it, you most certainly would have trouble filling it. There would be water all over the floor from trying to pour it into the cup. And, if the cup were flying around like that, the water that may have landed inside of it surely would be splashing out all over the place.

I know it’s weird…but sometimes I think that’s how God feels.

We think we have to do a million things. We think we have to work hard to please Him.

But really, I firmly believe he wants us to find rest. Because once we slow down to realize He is right there with us…guiding us…talking with us…loving us…He fills us up. We finally slow down enough to take in all He has for us. And then, the cup starts overflowing. Overflowing with that same goodness He fills us up with. It’s an overflow that builds a desire to love and serve others the same way we are loved and served by Him. You know it’s overflow when you can’t seem to turn it off. But you don’t have overflow if you don’t slow down enough to find rest in Him…in His grace. Because nothing you can do, learn or understand can make Him love you more…or less.

Those moments of overflow are humbling. They’re humbling because you feel loved in spite of yourself. They’re humbling because you see purpose in spite of yourself. They’re humbling because you’re empowered to be His hands and feet in spite of yourself.

They’re humbling because you realize your life is a meant to be a vessel of His goodness.

That’s what happened to me on Sunday…a moment of overflow…

Click here to listen to the very first message I ever shared as a pastor at Bloom (Religiously Transmitted Diseases, part 2)…God never ceases to amaze me.

I met a man today. He served three years in the U.S. military in Beirut. He has three large scars on his torso, several scars on his arms, a scar on his neck, and a tattoo to prove it. He’s lived through hell.

It shouldn’t matter that he slept under bridge last night. It shouldn’t matter that that his clothes were filthy. It shouldn’t matter that I heard his story through my open car window at an intersection where he was holding a sign asking for help.

He has a name…it’s Frank Wormwood.

I never would have heard his story had I not asked his name. And, I don’t know what possessed me to ask. Perhaps it was his genuine smile. Perhaps it was a manifestation of a work God is doing inside of me. Perhaps God just needed Frank to know in that moment that he is still respected and cared for. It probably was a combination of all three.

That two-minute exchange inspired me.

A name reminds you that you have a unique perspective on the world. A name reminds you that you have a unique identity. A name reminds you have a journey of your own.

A name reminds you that the homeless person on the side of the road is not an inconvenience, he’s a person filled with past experiences and dreams for the future.

You see, Frank IS a story. He is a story filled with hope. A story that’s worth something. A story that’s worth sharing.

When other people care enough to know your name, you’re not just another person on the street. You are human. You have purpose. Your life is a story.

One of the biggest enemies of my fulfillment is a lack of confidence.

Because it paralyzes me.

Once it paralyzes me, lack of confidence bleeds into other areas of my life. Once it paralyzes me, by definition, I cannot move…I cannot grow.

It’s a horrible spiral.

When it hits me, it results in a reluctance to embrace all of who I am…to be content with my rarity…to exercise my unique talents and perspectives.

I’m afraid to write. I’m afraid to speak up. I’m afraid to take risks.

It’s no secret that confidence ebbs and flows for everyone…all the time.

I’ve come to learn I’m ripe for a battle with confidence when I forget to spend ample time reflecting upon the things that amaze me…when I begin comparing my God-given purpose to the God-given purposes of others…when challenges begin feeling like free-falling instead of free-flying.

The best weapon in my battle? Realizing my being isn’t an end-state. My being is a through-state.

Realizing that fulfillment comes from embracing who I am, being content with my rarity and seeing my unique talents and perspectives as tools used to love and care for others.

Because then it’s not about believing in myself. It’s about trust in what is being done through me…whether or not I can see it…and that’s faith.

For a great blog on confidence, check out what Jenni Catron wrote on Cultivate Her!

I had a moment this weekend when I realized that the most in-depth conversations I have, I have with myself.

Seriously.

Admit it. Right now you’re picturing some woman in her car or walking through a store having a robust conversation…with no one. You know, the one where you’re convinced has a bluetooth device attached to her ear because there is no way she could really be talking to herself like that.

For the record, that’s not me.

However, if you could see what really goes on in my brain, you’d think even stranger things.

And, I’m convinced I’m not alone.

Constantly playing out scenarios, conversations, possibilities, ideas…nonstop.

That’s an awful lot of internal conversation for an extrovert.

And it’s sad.

When you talk with yourself, you really don’t have much in the line of diverse perspective to offer. When you talk with yourself, you can’t offer compassion or validation that really means anything. When you talk with yourself, you’re not getting any wiser, smarter or more enlightened.

That’s depressing.

So why do I do that again?

I mean, isn’t your life richer when you’re able to share your soul with others? Or share it with a higher being?

My challenge to myself this week is to stop the conversations with myself and share them with someone else. I’ve caught myself uncountable times this week. In some cases, I’ve shared the conversations with my closest friends. In other cases, it made sense for me to talk with God about them.

And, suddenly, I feel like I can breathe. Suddenly I feel like I can face challenges. Suddenly, I feel like I can let things go. Suddenly I see more opportunity.

We’re relational beings…why fight it?