Rarely do I have trouble sleeping. If you know me, you know that few things can keep me from conking out from midnight to nine if the opportunity presents itself. And this summer, the opportunity has presented itself quite frequently.
But tonight was different. Tonight, after another summer day filled with joy and general happiness, an army of accumulating thoughts, feelings, and realizations finally teamed up and beat me over the head with a frying pan. Or it may have been a baseball bat. One of those.
In the last few weeks, I have had a growing frustration with undue praise from friends and family. As my conversations with my RUF campus minister have allowed for deeper, richer discussion, and as I have been emailing more frequently and my recent book obsession has led to increased blogging, a horrifying backlash of accolades has reared its ugly head in a much grander way than is comfortable for my conscience. I used to find encouragement in sentiments which praised my apparent faithfulness or insight. I used to interpret these as confirmation that I am growing as an individual and as a Christian, and I would silently give myself a pat on the back for being a good example and a visible sign of God's handiwork. But none of what I write or talk about has anything to do with me.
Anyone in RUF at Georgia Tech who has been around me could tell you that I will be the first person to speak up in a discussion or offer to give a closing prayer. I love having genuine conversations about things that really matter; I love encouraging others as we deal with struggles in our lives; I feel comfortable saying anything to anyone at any time. Guess what? I'm an extrovert, I like people, and I have no shame. And when I write about the truths I learn in a book that reveals the beauty of God's grace, could it not be that I'm merely well trained in literary analysis? Could I not just as easily pull thought-provoking passages from a book about the Holocaust or venture capital funds? We like to think that such discussions are the outpouring of the heart, the result of substantial inner growth and the fruit of hours of prayer and meditation, but I know myself far too well to believe this is the case.
The reason why the praise sickens me is that I know that anything representing a true outpouring of my heart would be the most grotesque mass of filth ever encountered by man. Do I revel in rich discussions about Christ and his work in people? Absolutely. Do I enjoy tossing around ideas about theology and philosophy and psychology? Certainly. But my heart is filled with pride and double standards, not faithfulness and honor. I am far more concerned with seeking my own flourishing than seeking the flourishing of God's kingdom. And I hate that.
What kept me up tonight is the irrefutable knowledge that, in spite of the current condition of my heart, God has given me a fairytale life. He raised me in the healthiest, most loving, most intelligent and gifted family in existence; He put me in the best schools with the best teachers and a delightful assortment of friends; He protected me from danger, hunger, poverty, and neglect; He allowed me to take a Selfish Year to be in a place that inspired me, where I could take pride in my busyness and productivity and frolic in glistening snow for months on end and wear the same colors as 113,000 other people every Saturday and study under some of the most talented professionals in the country; He then let me transfer to an art school that more people dream of attending than will ever afford to, where I am arguably getting the best art education possible, once again swimming in sources of inspiration and learning from the finest in the field; and to complete my fairytale, He put me in a castle fully equipped with a furry sidekick and a best friend who could simultaneously shower me with lavish gifts and shoot the poor fool who crosses me, should he find it necessary. "Rainbows and unicorns" doesn't begin to describe the life that I live.
It's not often that I question God's plan, but this is a hard one for me. Why would He give any sinner this life, much less this arrogant buffoon? Couldn't these gifts have been better spent on someone else? I can only conclude that He is preparing me for things far beyond my comprehension, requiring more sacrifice than I've ever had to make in my twenty years. In a way, that's terrifying, but praise God that He might use me to do His will rather than my own.
But tonight was different. Tonight, after another summer day filled with joy and general happiness, an army of accumulating thoughts, feelings, and realizations finally teamed up and beat me over the head with a frying pan. Or it may have been a baseball bat. One of those.
In the last few weeks, I have had a growing frustration with undue praise from friends and family. As my conversations with my RUF campus minister have allowed for deeper, richer discussion, and as I have been emailing more frequently and my recent book obsession has led to increased blogging, a horrifying backlash of accolades has reared its ugly head in a much grander way than is comfortable for my conscience. I used to find encouragement in sentiments which praised my apparent faithfulness or insight. I used to interpret these as confirmation that I am growing as an individual and as a Christian, and I would silently give myself a pat on the back for being a good example and a visible sign of God's handiwork. But none of what I write or talk about has anything to do with me.
Anyone in RUF at Georgia Tech who has been around me could tell you that I will be the first person to speak up in a discussion or offer to give a closing prayer. I love having genuine conversations about things that really matter; I love encouraging others as we deal with struggles in our lives; I feel comfortable saying anything to anyone at any time. Guess what? I'm an extrovert, I like people, and I have no shame. And when I write about the truths I learn in a book that reveals the beauty of God's grace, could it not be that I'm merely well trained in literary analysis? Could I not just as easily pull thought-provoking passages from a book about the Holocaust or venture capital funds? We like to think that such discussions are the outpouring of the heart, the result of substantial inner growth and the fruit of hours of prayer and meditation, but I know myself far too well to believe this is the case.
The reason why the praise sickens me is that I know that anything representing a true outpouring of my heart would be the most grotesque mass of filth ever encountered by man. Do I revel in rich discussions about Christ and his work in people? Absolutely. Do I enjoy tossing around ideas about theology and philosophy and psychology? Certainly. But my heart is filled with pride and double standards, not faithfulness and honor. I am far more concerned with seeking my own flourishing than seeking the flourishing of God's kingdom. And I hate that.
What kept me up tonight is the irrefutable knowledge that, in spite of the current condition of my heart, God has given me a fairytale life. He raised me in the healthiest, most loving, most intelligent and gifted family in existence; He put me in the best schools with the best teachers and a delightful assortment of friends; He protected me from danger, hunger, poverty, and neglect; He allowed me to take a Selfish Year to be in a place that inspired me, where I could take pride in my busyness and productivity and frolic in glistening snow for months on end and wear the same colors as 113,000 other people every Saturday and study under some of the most talented professionals in the country; He then let me transfer to an art school that more people dream of attending than will ever afford to, where I am arguably getting the best art education possible, once again swimming in sources of inspiration and learning from the finest in the field; and to complete my fairytale, He put me in a castle fully equipped with a furry sidekick and a best friend who could simultaneously shower me with lavish gifts and shoot the poor fool who crosses me, should he find it necessary. "Rainbows and unicorns" doesn't begin to describe the life that I live.
It's not often that I question God's plan, but this is a hard one for me. Why would He give any sinner this life, much less this arrogant buffoon? Couldn't these gifts have been better spent on someone else? I can only conclude that He is preparing me for things far beyond my comprehension, requiring more sacrifice than I've ever had to make in my twenty years. In a way, that's terrifying, but praise God that He might use me to do His will rather than my own.
I can identify with this...well, not necessarily receiving undue praise...I definitely deserve all the praise I get. That was a joke.
ReplyDeleteI do understand the feeling that my life has been incredibly blessed and pretty easy, and I don't understand why I would have that when so many have lives much more difficult. I've never been brought to my knees, where all I have to trust in is God; I know that I put my trust in so many other things.
The morbid side of me also can't help but wonder/imagine what trials will be brought my way in the future. I mean, it only takes one incidence, one moment to change everything, to lose all feelings of security.
Anyway, I don't really have a point except to say that I know the feelings you speak of.