CONFESSION OF CRISIS

I have a confession to make:  I am a person in crisis.  On the surface, it’s hard to see. Loving friends and family, check. Satisfying work, check. Fulfilling ministry, check.  There is no part of my life that I don’t deeply love … and yet, here I am, telling you I’m in crisis.

In this moment, the words that come up are Ungrateful.  Suck it up.  You have no right to complain. Ungrateful. Ungrateful. Ungrateful. And it would be reasonable for you to think these words apply. I know I do. I should be getting up to my life with happiness but I’m not. This morning, my back hurts, I’m nursing a stye in my eye, my stomach is killing me, my chest feels heavy and I can’t sleep. I feel … pressed.

So how does someone who looks like they’re okay, acknowledges they should be okay, still conclude she’s in crisis?  Isn’t that word reserved for people who are going through broken relationships, or illness, or unemployment?  Google defines crisis as “a time of intense difficulty, trouble, or danger.”  So, yes, these paths to crisis apply … but so does mine.

 

Anyone who knows me knows I am driven.  I love to learn new skills, challenge myself, and make progress.  I hate to be bored.  It’s distressing for me not to have a project or someone to talk to. 

A friend of mine once asked me, “What do you do to relax?”  and I replied, “Work.”  Oh boy.  

On another occasion, this same friend invited me to a silent prayer retreat, and I think my response was to literally laugh out loud. I was supposed to be around people that I couldn’t even talk to?  Did she know me at all?  The truth is, she saw that my drive was taking me toward a cliff, and I didn’t even see that my hands were firmly on the wheel. I missed the point of what my friend had in mind for me.  She didn’t want me to be bored.  She knew I needed to be still.  She didn’t want me to be anti-social.  She was offering me time with Jesus.  And I didn’t see it.

Instead, I’ve arrived at the destination she was trying to help me avoid. In difficulty.  In trouble. In danger.

So what are some of the signs of crisis?  Health problems, snapping at the people we feel safest with and constant anxiety that one of our many spinning plates is going to come crashing down. Sound familiar?

Now before someone holds an intervention on my behalf, know it’s not necessary.  I recognize where I am and this written confession, if you will, is my way of pulling back so I can take a look at my situation from a bird’s eye view.  Writing is the lens I use to help me see with clarity.

As a working Christian woman, who is a wife and mom, finding balance seems ever elusive and yet, we think we have to chase it.

In response to other women who have felt just as uneven, I’ve said, “Pursuing ‘balance’ is from the devil.  It’s a way to set you up to feel defeated because it’s impossible. The best thing you can do is the best you can with what, or who, is directly in front of you in that moment.”  

Sometimes what we think is on our schedules, and what God has actually assigned for us, intersect and changes the course of our day.  Balance isn’t possible.  Whether it’s work, ministry, caring for your family or being there for a friend, ours is to be present in that moment and do what we can.  I stand by that.

But here comes the but.  

But … I’ve been setting the parameters of ‘balance’ incorrectly. I’ve defined balance from the viewpoint of trying to share equal time between work, ministry, familial needs and building relationships.  All of these are modes of doing. But balance isn’t just about the work.  It’s finding the balance between work and renewal. That’s where so many of us tip the scales into crisis.  We don’t find that measure of restoration. We’re so busy driving, driving, driving … we forget to fill the tank. Until we’re empty. 

The thing is, I didn’t realize I was empty because I was still moving.  I didn’t see that I was out of fuel because I was being pushed from behind.  That force is going to be different for each of us.  For me, that force is the fear of letting people down.

I hate the thought of someone not getting help or feeling disappointment because of a choice I’ve made. Or not made.  The reality is, I have hurt and disappointed people, and I will keep doing it.  Not because I want to, or that I would do it with intention, but because it’s not possible for me to be everywhere and do everything and to be there for everyone. 

You know who can do all these things?  God. Just God.  (You know who thought he could do God’s job?  Lucifer.  Not who I would call the best role model. Just sayin.)

For those of you who suffer from the same struggles, join me as I read two words again:  Just. God.  

We were never meant to assume the work that only God can do or do the work that is assigned to someone else.  We aren’t meant to keep going until there is nothing left to give. To keep driving, we have to stop and refill. In stillness.  With Jesus.

I let myself get to crisis. Does it mean I’m no longer someone you can call upon when needs arise? No, friend. Yours is to ask.  Mine is to know what I can do … and more importantly, what I can’t.  If I say no, know my assignment is elsewhere, or that I’m in a time of renewal. I thank you in advance for the grace.  If I say yes, you know you’ll have me at my best.

The management of our lives is on us. The priorities and direction are up to God. Here’s to knowing the difference.