Perfectionism & Self-Reliance

For years now, I feel like God has been working hard at undoing all my perfectionistic tendencies, my religiosity, and my self-reliance. It's a long process apparently, and for quite some time I didn't even know it was going on. Well, I knew things were going on; I just didn't know what God was up to. But these past nine months or so has been like the PhD program for the end to my self-reliance, and it's been...painful. It's not easy to see parts of ourselves die, especially those parts that seem actually useful.

Perfectionism is not necessarily all that useful. It often prevents progress, and I don't think I've found it too hard to let go of. But self-reliance...well that seems like a good thing, right? Be responsible. Do your part. God helps those who help themselves. We believe that stuff. And I'm not saying it's bad. We have to be responsible. We have to do our part. But that whole "God helps those who help themselves"...I think that may be the part that God is looking to kill off in my life, and to do so He's had to practically incapacitate me.

I've not been doing too well the past few days. I've been frustrated by people and things and plagued by the physical and emotional discomforts of the end of pregnancy. But topping it all off is that little voice in the back of my head sending nasty messages. Those messages generally revolve around the idea that our life is so imperfect that we have no place having another baby. Little pieces of life keep blowing up in my face issuing the same reminder. And so I see that some part of me is still pretty uncomfortable with imperfection. And my self-reliant self is angry and frustrated that this little buddy won't leave the womb and enter the world, which would put me on the path to moving on to figuring out how to get back to work in some capacity to help our family financially.

Instead I find myself living in nothing less than complete uncertainty and lack of clarity. And I'm pretty sure that this is exactly where God has wanted me for the past several months. All of the frustration I've been feeling for the past few days tells me that perhaps not much progress has been made in dealing the death blow to my self-reliance. Because now that the end of this pregnancy is near, I feel more energy than I've felt in the past nine months. And I don't think it's just that burst of energy that people get at the end of pregnancy. I think it's me, saying, "I can do this. I don't know how, but I can. I can fix things." And the truth is, I can't.

So I'm swinging wildly between these thoughts and emotions, and you can all count yourselves lucky that you don't live with me. As usual I was up this morning before everyone else, and it was only a matter of minutes before I was crying, flooded with the reality of certain things. And then I read a chapter from Anne Lamott's Plan B: Thoughts on Faith, which I've been reading sporadically over the past few months. And she said this:

"I have a lot of faith. But I am also afraid a lot, and have no real certainty about anything. I remembered something Father Tom had told me--that the opposite of faith is not doubt but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns."

And that made me feel a bit better. Because I'm the kind of person who likes certainty, and I believe that Anne Lamott (or Father Tom, I guess) is right. Certainty isn't faith. After that, I read Psalm 44. I read a Psalm every day, and then I just cycle back through them when I reach the end of the book. Today's Psalm said:

"It was not by their sword that they won the land, nor did their arm bring them victory; it was your right hand, your arm, and the light of your face, for you loved them."

So again today I am trying to let go of my self-reliance. I will notice the mess and try not to feel overwhelmed by it. I will try to stop telling myself that it's my job to fix everything. That I can do it right. I will wait for God and the light of his face.