Yet another year…

Given that this year’s birthday brings me yet another year closer to being 30, I am surprised that I am not more depressed. Being the melancholic, birthdays are tough for me. My husband knows. Recently, he began to grow apprehensive about the imminent date, and had asked me several times in the past couple of weeks, “Are you happy this year?” He then stuck his hand up and began to count the number of accomplishments I had this year. He ended up with six fingers raised in the air. “Is that good enough for you?” I chuckled and nodded.

You see—one of my biggest weaknesses is my constant need for external validation. Without the A’s in some course I’m taking, without the certificates or awards, without a degree or diploma of some sort, without the commendation from someone on some personal undertaking, without the milestones of getting engaged, married, having children, etc.—I am left, every year, most often on my birthday, feeling inadequate—as if, without these things, the year was wasted.

I call it a weakness because this feeling of emptiness and inadequacy counters what I know the Bible teaches—what God wants of me—and that is to be content without these earthly rewards. To know that inwardly, and outwardly in my relationships with family, friends, even acquaintances, that I am doing His will—pursuing excellence in whatever comes my way, loving whomever comes my way, and relishing in wherever He puts me—must be enough. No, it must be more than enough. Because in the end, should my life be cut short, and even if I have the blessing of living a long life—I can’t take any of that stuff with me. And that stuff, at least with the people who matter most in my life, will not be what is remembered.

It’s easy to say—even easy to pretend that I live it—but I know that every day, I struggle.

Last fall, I quit my job as a Technical Writer (after 4 years, 2 months, and 5 days). Started a part-time tutoring business. Committed two days a week to writing. Through the encouragement of my spiritual mentor, enrolled in seminary for the coming fall. These decisions, of course, had their costs, including taking a “hit” to our household income, my giving up the status of being identified with a respectable profession, and my delaying our family’s dream of purchasing a bigger home to hold, God wiling, our future children. Yet—after I went through with the decision, I finally felt like I was moving closer to what I’ve always wanted—even though I don’t know where writing stories and studying theology would eventually lead me (in the pragmatic sense, professionally and monetarily). After all, there are no guarantees. But, ironically, it is in this uncertainty that I feel God’s assurance and affirmation—that all I have to do is work hard at what I am most passionate about, and God will lead the way.

Eric Liddle in Chariots of Fire makes this powerful statement: "God made me run fast, and when I run, I feel his glory.”

Its truth burns in my soul. And in the tiny moments when I can at last offer my self to God—that is, without my desperately clawing the earth brimming with its golden riches, I do, indeed, feel his glory.

This past Sunday my husband and I attended People's church. There were instrumentals and a choir on stage, and the charismatic worship leader had us all stand up to sing "Be Unto his Name." When it came to the part, "Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty..." with the harmony, hundreds of prayerful hearts, and the holy expectancy commanded by the melody and words of this chorus, my eyes teared up, and once again, I was brought back to thankfulness and joy--just simply because I knew God and I knew he knew me.

Ask me how to explain glory to someone and that's how I think of it. That's how it feels. And when I feel it, I don't want to be anywhere else.