I spent hours last night trying to write this blog. It did not go at all the way I planned. I was so annoyed by this.
I had it all planned out, that I would take quiet candle-lit time with a cup of tea and my husband would man the kids, and everything was going so well…inspiration struck. I put on my noise canceling headphones and I lit my candles and I breathed in the scent of Earl Grey, and I was off, writing, working, producing…being important.
Despite all promising signs, this smooth course did not last.
I had things planned, they were going well, I had everything lined up for all members of my family–dinner, showers, pajamas, movie–and yet things went their own way, away from my way. I think what was maddening about this was how seldom this happens to me. It’s not that things often go awry in my life; in fact, it’s that things usually go according to plan. My best-laid plans tend to go well, take off, come to actualization. And when they don’t, it annoys me terribly. I have to wonder if there’s a place of growth in here for me.
There’s a scene in my favorite movie, It’s A Wonderful Life, when the main character, George Bailey, sees the path he has so carefully crafted for himself going up in smoke, mostly because he falls in love. He has the most beautiful plans: he’s going to travel the world, continue his education, become an amazing architect, build awesome things. He’s going to leave his little humdrum town and be big and impressive. But when he goes to visit Mary Hatch one night, he realizes his life trajectory has changed: he loves her. He’s going to marry her and have babies with her and live his life with her, rather than with the plans that he made that were for him, alone. In a last desperate attempt to stave off the Love that has come in and thwarted his life plans, he tells her, rather fiercely, “Now you listen to me! I don’t want any plastics! I don’t want any ground floors! And I don’t want to get married, EVER, to anyone! I want to do what I want to do!”
His plan was made. It was a beautiful plan. It was a plan that would do some good in the world and be fulfilling for him. What more does God WANT from him? Why can’t he just do what he wants to do?
Why can’t I just write the way I want to write? Why do my children and my husband and my dog and my cats need me all the time? Why can’t it be about me?
How often do we get this message, that our lives are all about us? How often do we even get the message that LOVE is all about us, that falling in love will make everything clear, will SOLVE all our problems, will give us our happily ever afters? Disney movies don’t tell you that falling in love is the beginning of the most wonderful and irritating complications in your life. And that Love is, most decidedly, NOT all about you.
There are people who care about being good, who are open to where God wants them to go, who respond to Love, who even dare to utter that scariest of prayers, “Thy will be done. Your will, God, not mine.” For these people, I have noticed that it often proves futile to have life goals to which they are unswervingly committed, because, if it’s not where God wants them to grow, he will have them swerve.
I was raised in a home that was not only open to God’s will leading our lives, and so we went through some hard times that helped us grow, but also a home that taught me that Love is not about you. That life is not about you. That you are not the center of the universe…the center of anything, really. Instead, I was taught more along the lines of Cicero: “You were not born for yourself alone.”
I so often think that I am living this well, this servant-life, and so it is a real, unpleasant surprise when I find I am not. When I realized last night, after everyone had meltdowns and went to bed, that I had made a poor choice, a choice that forgot that it was not all about me, and that I had hurt people in the process, it was uncomfortable. It made me grouchy. I told my husband, in no uncertain terms, that I was mad. I was mad that it was not all about me, MAD that I had been unkind to him and the kids and the dog and the cats, mad that I made that mistake and that I was SORRY for it! I said this rather fiercely, rather like George Bailey, because I was sorry, and I wanted to do what I wanted to do! I had gotten swept along in that frustrating rivulet of humanity–why couldn’t it be about me? What wasn’t life all about me?!
Somewhere in the middle of my apologetic fuming, I remembered it was Advent. I remembered that I had deliberately committed to trying to grow more into my best self, the best Christina I could be, during Advent. Advent is about preparing, as I have been telling my children, about preparing yourself for Jesus to come–trying to grow while noticing that Jesus comes to us continually, loving us through and into our growth. But here is the thing: I had planned out my Advent growth. I, Christina, had it perfectly planned–what I would work on and how I would work on it–and I did not need any input, including from God.
In all my perfect planning, I had left him out.
I used to tell my students that one way to understand Original Sin is as our tendency to stiff-arm God, football-player style, to push God away, saying in essence, “I don’t NEED you.” And in all my busy Advent plans to hurry up and become the Christina God wanted me to be, I had stiff-armed him, working on what I wanted to work on, when he was trying to show me what HE would like me to work on. I wanted it to be all about me, and Love was again getting in the way.
In this regard, I sometimes think about the Wise Men. I think about how they were obviously people of depth, who lived an examined life and tried to develop themselves holistically. They were spiritual and educated and seeking to become the best versions of themselves. I think about how they probably had things planned out in their lives, their own paths of personal growth. And I think about the Star…that led them to Bethlehem. To a stable and a manger and some poor people, for goodness’ sake. I wonder if the Wise Men expected that…or if they even wanted to follow that Star in the first place…I wonder if it was frustrating to them, and to their plans, that they felt compelled to do so. And how did they feel upon reaching it: did they find what they expected? Were they really as calm and accepting as the manger scenes portray? Or were they a little bit surprised, even annoyed, because finding a baby and some sheep were not in their plans?
To paraphrase de Chardin from my favorite prayer, “And yet it is the law of all progress that it does not go your way.” If all my plans for personal growth went my way, I would not grow. As least not as well. I have to be shaken up for me to notice my points of weakness, where I really need growth. It’s what my strength coach, Tim Massey, called Shock Treatment: In high school, our weights class would be lifting steadily, doing the same routine for weeks, and then Coach Massey would tell us that the next week would be Shock Treatment, a week of completely changing our lifting routine because our bodies had gotten used to it. Our bodies could no longer get the maximum benefit from our workouts because they knew what to expect: they had adjusted to meet what was expected, and we had to shake them out of their routine if we wanted to grow them more.
That’s what God does with us, if we are open to it and we engage in that next level of spiritual workout. He jolts us out of our nice routine of personal growth because it no longer challenges us; he pushes us with surprise, waking us up with unexpected tasks, shining light on areas of weakness that need attention. Things that we could not see while staying in our own pattern, in doing what we wanted to do, without the shining light of the unexpected Star illuminating our dark spots.
As with every moment that knocks me sideways unexpectedly, it annoys me…and then I start to see its value. Shock treatment week makes me really sore…and that is me starting to get strong again. The simple truth is that we cannot see all the areas of growth we need; we cannot see the wonderful life we could live; we cannot plan out our own lives of Love. But the light of the Star can show us these things. Letting Love in illuminates what we cannot see and, in following that light of Love, we end up where we needed to be all along.
So I gave up trying to write last night. I went into my kids’ bedrooms and I prayed over them, even though all were asleep except my oldest, who was faking it because I had been mean and he didn’t want to talk to me. I made sure to pray out loud so he could hear me say I loved him and that I was sorry I had been asshole mom. Then I went back downstairs and snuggled under a blanket next to my husband, who, ironically, was watching Moneyball, which 100% stresses me out with every single thing in that movie that doesn’t go to plan. I think I caught him suppressing a smile as he looked at me sideways, knowing how pissed off I was that I could not control the universe and how committed I was to trying, again, to let go of that control. To allow the Star to lead me to where I need to go, rather than thinking I have any idea of where that is.
In my repentance and my ebbing frustration, my husband scooted over on the couch and snuggled up next to me. My life is not about me, and Love is not about me, but in that snuggling, my husband reminded me that Love, while leading me to places I am unfamiliar with–and challenged by–also gives me solace along the way.
Questions for Reflection:
Where do you find yourself trying very hard to make your life all about you? You might notice this through strain in your relationships, including with co-workers or those you live with.
How can you find balance between loving self-care, which is important, and making your life about others rather than centering on yourself?
When have you been frustrated, hurt, or gone through a hard time while you were growing as a person? At the time, did you notice that you were growing? Who was there for you in that time? How did they Love you through it?
Can you identify patterns of behavior that push away those you Love, including God, when you are frustrated? What might you do about those patterns of behavior?
Possible songs for reflection:
“Humble Me” sung by Norah Jones
“The Show” sung by Lenka
“Mvmt II: ‘Begin and Never Cease’” sung by the Oh Hellos