I was reading last night's post (That's a capital "T"...) and reflecting. What a ridiculous way to live my life! Of all the motivating factors I could choose, why would I choose guilt? Here's the thing: I do choose to live with guilt. It does not choose me. I have chosen to allow guilt to rule my decisions, and believed the fallacy that without it, I would have no self-control. This allows me to "excuse" my repeated bad behavior by talking about how "guilty" it makes me feel. Is there any way that feeling guilty can make me a better person? Obviously not! I have somehow managed to live my life thus far without improving any of my procrastinating ways, regardless of how much guilt I heap upon myself. The lunacy of this thinking pattern is obvious!
Not only does my guilt not change me for the better, it also restrains me from truly seeking the Lord's will for my life. I don't do what I should do for fear of not being worthy, not being good enough. What makes me think I'm good enough to witness to a person who obviously needs the Lord's grace? What makes me think I'm good enough to get my graduate degree so I can futher help my family financially? Or even, (referring to last night's post) what makes me think I'm good enough to enjoy the pool table I just purchased? I know I'm not good enough, but instead of embracing the grace given to me through Christ, I hold onto my guilt and try not to live like the true child of God that I am. This is not how God meant for me to live!
He sent his son so I could have abundant life (in other words, to actually enjoy the life he has given me). I am essentially refusing his gift of grace by holding on to my cruddy guilt. It has been like the proverbial "security blanket" Linus drags around with him in the comic strip "Peanuts." The problem is, my guilt security blanket cannot cover my sin, make me a new person, or free me to live the life I've been called to live. It is a sign of my arrested spiritual development, and it must go.
But what will take its place? My fears? My sense of duty? I recall a teacher of the law in Mark asking Christ which commandment (guideline or motivation for how to live life) was the most important of all. Jesus' response was "Love..." I am told to let love for God, and then other people set the standard for my actions. Not guilt. Not obligations. Love.
So which is easier? Which is the path of least resistance? Guilt. But which is freeing? Which is infinitely more fulfilling and true? Love. So I'm choosing love in the same way that I've chosen guilt up until this moment. I'm embracing Christ and his incredible gift of grace right this instant, and I'm refusing to let guilt have a place in my life. "Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!" II Cor. 9:15
Showing posts with label procrastinate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label procrastinate. Show all posts
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
My first Blog/ About me
An old college buddy encouraged me to start this blog. Seeing her entries and online insights was the inspiration for what follows. All inaccuracies, inefficiencies, and inexplicable references are to be directly attributed to her overconfidence in a fellow procrastinator and professional slacker. Here goes.
The challenge of a blank page. Let's start off with the fact that I've never particularly felt I had anything valuable to say. When given completely open parameters, I stumble along blindly looking for some sort of guidelines. I am paralyzed by the sheer vastness of possibility. Which leads me to another inherent self-truth: I like structure. In its absence, what little creativity resides in my mind is stifled. Within a structure, my mind loves plotting and planning, sorting and organizing, and even surprising those who think they may know what I will say or do. Generally speaking, I believe I am much better at editing and revising others' original thoughts than I am at writing my own.
Beyond those aforementioned disclaimers, it is imperative that I mention I love coffee. Coffee doesn't always love me. In fact, it leaves me with blinding headaches if I allow myself to consume as much as my palate desires. Despite this risk, the wonderful, rich, brown, creamy, sweet liquid has such a pleasant effect on my overall sense of well-being. I feel loved when I have a cup of coffee in my hand. It is a strange sort of self-love. My husband cannot stand the taste or even the smell of coffee. For this reason, I usually drink my coffee in solitude, and in a house with two children, solitude is seldom over-rated.
I love my two daughters. Blond and sunny, smart and lively, ever-changing and developing before my eyes, they have my heart. They were once a part of me, are still like me, and yet grow more and more independent of me each day. It is a challenging and consuming passion to know and parent them well. Katie is trying on identities like fashions, eager, yet tentative about about what it means to be in middle school for the first time next year. She is lovely and sensitive, intelligent and athletic, artistic, silly and insecure. Beth is raging at the incomprehensible joke God has played by making her the younger sister. Adventurous, daring, competitive, and sparkling, she is pretty and insightful, quick to understand, and quicker to judge. What amazing people they are, and how fascinating to play a role in their lives.
Then there's my dog Sam, the border collie/spaniel with the heart of a chicken and the innate desire to round up anything and anyone near him. He has an uncanny ability to sense the exact place I am heading and cut me off, turning me toward some unseen destination only he knows. Perhaps in his muddled doggie mind, I am the proverbial black sheep that must be separated from the herd. Whatever his purpose, he is frighteningly good at achieving it. When the girls were younger, he would run circles around them, barking and nipping until they cooperated and remained in the middle of the yard. Just one heading for the edge would send him around the outside, playfully, yet earnestly urging her back to the "pen." Now that he's older, with white hairs creeping into the once all-black mask around his eyes, Sam mostly sleeps where I must trip over him. Although he rarely runs any more, when ambling or occasionally moseying, he still prefers to place himself in the direct path of an oncoming person and then nudge him to one side or the other. He is my maddening joy.
I was going to write about my marriage, but I think that's another blog all by itself. I was going to write about teaching and coaching, but I need more time to properly sort through those things too. Then there's the guilt which seems to be the underlying motivator for nearly everything I do. Clearly, for me, counselling is in order, but not necessarily another paragraph. No, today, I will end with the satisfying feeling of having more to say, but knowing that what has been said will suffice. For now.
The challenge of a blank page. Let's start off with the fact that I've never particularly felt I had anything valuable to say. When given completely open parameters, I stumble along blindly looking for some sort of guidelines. I am paralyzed by the sheer vastness of possibility. Which leads me to another inherent self-truth: I like structure. In its absence, what little creativity resides in my mind is stifled. Within a structure, my mind loves plotting and planning, sorting and organizing, and even surprising those who think they may know what I will say or do. Generally speaking, I believe I am much better at editing and revising others' original thoughts than I am at writing my own.
Beyond those aforementioned disclaimers, it is imperative that I mention I love coffee. Coffee doesn't always love me. In fact, it leaves me with blinding headaches if I allow myself to consume as much as my palate desires. Despite this risk, the wonderful, rich, brown, creamy, sweet liquid has such a pleasant effect on my overall sense of well-being. I feel loved when I have a cup of coffee in my hand. It is a strange sort of self-love. My husband cannot stand the taste or even the smell of coffee. For this reason, I usually drink my coffee in solitude, and in a house with two children, solitude is seldom over-rated.
I love my two daughters. Blond and sunny, smart and lively, ever-changing and developing before my eyes, they have my heart. They were once a part of me, are still like me, and yet grow more and more independent of me each day. It is a challenging and consuming passion to know and parent them well. Katie is trying on identities like fashions, eager, yet tentative about about what it means to be in middle school for the first time next year. She is lovely and sensitive, intelligent and athletic, artistic, silly and insecure. Beth is raging at the incomprehensible joke God has played by making her the younger sister. Adventurous, daring, competitive, and sparkling, she is pretty and insightful, quick to understand, and quicker to judge. What amazing people they are, and how fascinating to play a role in their lives.
Then there's my dog Sam, the border collie/spaniel with the heart of a chicken and the innate desire to round up anything and anyone near him. He has an uncanny ability to sense the exact place I am heading and cut me off, turning me toward some unseen destination only he knows. Perhaps in his muddled doggie mind, I am the proverbial black sheep that must be separated from the herd. Whatever his purpose, he is frighteningly good at achieving it. When the girls were younger, he would run circles around them, barking and nipping until they cooperated and remained in the middle of the yard. Just one heading for the edge would send him around the outside, playfully, yet earnestly urging her back to the "pen." Now that he's older, with white hairs creeping into the once all-black mask around his eyes, Sam mostly sleeps where I must trip over him. Although he rarely runs any more, when ambling or occasionally moseying, he still prefers to place himself in the direct path of an oncoming person and then nudge him to one side or the other. He is my maddening joy.
I was going to write about my marriage, but I think that's another blog all by itself. I was going to write about teaching and coaching, but I need more time to properly sort through those things too. Then there's the guilt which seems to be the underlying motivator for nearly everything I do. Clearly, for me, counselling is in order, but not necessarily another paragraph. No, today, I will end with the satisfying feeling of having more to say, but knowing that what has been said will suffice. For now.
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