Oceans

"We did not select you to proceed to the next stages of the application process." 

I rushed through the rejection email, convincing myself that if I deleted the email quickly enough, I could pretend it hadn't happened. No one would have to know. 

The speedy actions of my fingers on the keyboard didn't tamp out the sting I still felt. 
It was a remote job I had applied to - sort of on a whim, sort of because I was curious about it. Once they saw my resume and application, I was certain that I would be the one interviewing them for the job. 

But here I was, literally staring rejection in the face. Again. 

My new reality has stirred up a lot about identity, value, worth. 
I'm in an ocean of unknown territory. It's a new ocean, but it brings about familiar memories from days long ago. 

The waves come and, as they hit, they cause me to feel unwanted or inadequate. There is reprieve as they settle, but I know looming in the distance more are on the horizon. Sometimes they will sweep me up, toss me around, and I struggle to find my way back to the top of the surface where I remember that I can breathe and that I'll have better perspective. In the cartwheel of no oxygen, I scrape the bottom and my eyes sting with saltwater. For a moment, I feel like I'm drowning. 

In these moments, I often have gut-wrenching conversations with the Lord as I realize how easily I continue to equate my worth to productivity. Somewhere in me, I continue to believe that if I prove myself, I'll be more satisfied. Do this and you'll be something. You'll matter in this world. You'll have proven that you're capable, qualified, reliable. You'll have "arrived". 

It's a silly lie. But it's a real one. 
One that my rational, mature, intellectual self can recognize and battle. But in my weaker moments, on my weaker days, I can slip into lapses of self-defeat, self-doubt, self-loathing. This is the collision where my stroke fails at the very instant the wave breaks and I find myself upside-down, gasping for air underwater, eyes burning, wondering if this time I'll make it out unscathed. 

Sometimes it makes me fear the ocean. 
Sometimes it causes me to want to stay on the shore. The satisfaction of the water doesn't always feel worth being violently tossed to and fro. Sometimes, in my most fragile state, I can't bear the thought of entering into the abyss of the unknown... not knowing where I will land at the end of it all. It feels easier to stay where I know I'm safe. Or, at least, safer. 

But here I am. 
Facing a new ocean. A new reality. New fears. New dreams. And while I can generally be strong and courageous, there are instances where I really do wonder if I have enough in me to start over, to begin again, to make new friends, to find a new team, to face the chorus of rejection that generally comes when you put yourself out there. To come back to the surface after I eat sand at the bottom. 

And these are the conversations with God that remind me that my worth cannot be found in doing. I have had a to take a good, hard look at the mirror the last several months as process through the events in my life and in the world around us lately. 

There have been sporadic minutes between the baby's naps that I have chosen to avoid the mirror because I haven't wanted to give myself an honest look. Minutes where it's easier to scroll through social media and judge the myriad of opinions, comments, and controversy. Minutes where it's easier to stay up with the news -- learning about the latest coronavirus numbers, devastation, and impacts. But there are other minutes when I hop on the mower and I cannot escape. Here I realize that there is still pain and fear....there are still wounds that take time to heal. There are other minutes where I open Scripture and am ever-aware of God's promises, of His faithfulness throughout the entirety of mankind. Here I realize that I will be okay... this will be okay. That He will fulfill His purpose for me (Psalm 138). 

All too often I can convince myself that I am capable... on my own. Able to achieve, conquer, do anything, be anything... 

And then I am brought back to my knees, assured that my most vulnerable dependence brings a strength I cannot produce on my own. That the humiliation of the mirror transpires into a fortitude of faith that necessitates willingness, discipline, and courage. 

I wish I could scream that I am strong, able, and resilient. 
But I must confess that I am weak, scared, and dependent. 

There are many more conversations to be had between God and I, as He gently reminds me about who I am and, more importantly, who He is. And as I stand on the shore, scared to jump back in again, waiting for the waves to calm down... I marvel that He is so patient with my fears, my wounds, my insecurities. I am in awe of how He takes care of me, no matter how big the waves have been, no matter how unsteady I have felt. 

What kindness. 
What mercy. 
What love. 

Of this I am sure: I am not alone. 
This ocean will not swallow me. 

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