Perplexed and Faithful

Often I grow anxious when facing a decision without clear direction.  The power to choose makes me nervous enough, but worse is the idea that I should know what to do.  Why?  Because I'm a Christian.  Which means I should recognize Jesus' voice (John 10:27), and I should be directed and comforted by the Spirit.  Right?  So what if I still don't know what to do?

At my lowest moments, it makes me wonder if I know Him.  Lately, this is evident in my anxiety about the Lifegroup that I help lead on Monday nights.  I really, really want it to be more than a Bible study.  Certainly not less, but more*.

But I have no idea how to get there.

And so I spend hours thinking, writing, praying, reading, talking.  How do I move us from theory to practice?  And I just don't know.  And so I get anxious.  This is my calling as leader, in part, is it not?  Even if I lead nothing at all, shouldn't I have some sense of how to be what I think God is calling me to be, how to do what He's calling me to do?

I am so comforted by scripture.  In 2 Corinthians 4 Paul describes the struggles in his ministry.  He says he is afflicted, but not crushed; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.

But I skipped a line there.  Did you catch it?  Darrell missed it too.

Verse 8 says 'we are perplexed, but not driven to despair'.  Which is huge for me.  Because so often I feel perplexed.

The root word for 'perplexed' in Greek is translated as doubting, or unsure, and has connotations of being thrown overboard, being lost in the waves.  But not driven to despair, it says.  We may be overboard, but we're not drowning, nor giving up.

Which, I think, defends us against the crippling anxiety of self-doubt.  Because the nature of Paul as he follows the Lord is not omniscience or clairvoyance, nor supreme confidence.  Instead, the nature of the redeemed Paul is to cling to hope and reject despair.  He tells the gospel to himself, over and over.  He worships.

Often the Lord will give direct guidance or direction.  But it is not guaranteed.  And so, when He does not direct us, when we are not sure what to do- we must believe that we are not failing.  We are not lost, nor in sin.  We are existing as true believers have existed from the beginning**-  perplexed, but not despairing.  Because so great is our Redemption, that even if the worst option were chosen, Hope would remain by the strength and love of a suffering Lord.

Having offered peace to those wracked by self-condemnation by reason of indecision, my next post intends to explain the Christian's freedom of choice, and therein offer limited aid in decision-making.

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*I hope to address this concept in a future post as well.

**Also, see 2 Chronicles 20:12.

Kudu and the Hammering of my Pride

Questions follow us by season.  In college, you're asked your major.  At graduation, your degree, and your plans for the future.  As a young adult, I am asked, "So, what are you doing these days?"  Meaning, what's your job.

And I hate that question.  Oh, I hate it.  Because somedays being a barista makes me feel like an epic failure.  I crushed the SAT, went to a prestigious university, took a semester off, graduated with a strong GPA, and then...  entered the world of food and bev.

Truth be told, the first year at Kudu beat my pride with the consistency and precision of a pileated woodpecker.  I reeled, swayed, under new revelations of my pride, realizing how highly I thought of myself.  Sweeping and mopping the shop, I was met with a wheedling voice-  you are better than this. You worked hard for something more than this.  You deserve a better job.

And part of me truly felt that I was better than everyone around me, set on a higher plane by intelligence and purpose, and therefore by dignity.   I've attempted to kill as much of that pride as I can, offer it to the Lord as it rises again and again from the stump that remains.  I know I am no better and no worse than the doctor or the janitor; and I know that I am called to be at Kudu, for now.  But family reunions still get me down sometimes.  Cousins show me their children, and their business cards, and their portfolios.  And I show them a picture of a swan I once poured in a latte bowl.  Nope, didn't even use a toothpick.

I see my shame when I define my position.  I call myself an assistant manager (which I was called by a manager, once), or a closing manager.  I don't say barista.  Because I feel like I've let myself and my family down, though they would never say such a thing.

And I want to scream sometimes, that this is just temporary, that I don't intend to stay here, that I am bound for greater things.  And I hope that all those prove true.  Because I do feel called to different things (though perhaps not greater), and I do feel better suited for another field of work.

But my squirming and discomfort and political framings of my position belay something deep within, and give a reason for me to stay right where I am.   They demonstrate that I still find much of my value in what I do, not who I am.  I am not satisfied to make coffee and pour beer, because I find it demeaning and boring and unhealthy and financially unstable.  But were I truly satisfied in the Lord, if I trusted Him fully, with all that I am and have and do, then I would be satisfied regardless.  I wouldn't mind making coffee for sixty more years (eighty, if I follow in Memaw's worn-out shoes), nor would I mind doing hard labor or teaching in a school or driving a taxi or cleaning pools.  Because, when my joy and my self worth is in Him, my trust for the future hung on His love for me, then there is nothing to fear.  Nothing to be ashamed of.  Nothing but to work hard, to love those around me, and rest in His grace.  If repentance means 'to think newly', then I repent by rejecting my ashamed self-aggrandizement, and my arrogant assumptions of superiority, and instead meditate on the source of my true value and satisfaction.  These things come from the love I have been given in Jesus, not the position I have earned, and therefore cannot be compromised.  And when I rely on this love, cling to it, I am freed to work well, to serve well both employer and customer.  And I am freed from anxiety unto rest.  And so I am glad to work as a barista, simply because in such a position I learn humility, leadership, and service, and because I indeed work with and for beings made in the very image of God and who are loved by Him.  Any such work is therein honorable, and good.