Admitting failure and receiving grace

Well, it happened. I fell on my face.

I stepped in, ran hard, and got sick. Say goodbye to my great plan of being super-productive, efficient, and cheerful! Say hello to calling in sick, barely making it through class, and staring blankly at computer screens when I have too much to do.

The reality crept in slowly. You cannot fulfill all of the commitments you have made. It is physically and emotionally impossible.

Memories of the last time I faced this reality caused my chest to tighten with anxiety.

I made a commitment. I signed a contract. They really need me. They have trusted me. I said YES to them. I can’t back out now. I can’t believe this has happened again. There must be a way to press on and plow through.
Tiffany, it’s not possible.

The last time I found myself in a similar (but less flexible) situation, I initiated a conversation with my supervisor (a Christian), hoping to find a degree of understanding and sympathy about the demands of school on my time. “Can’t do it.” That’s where it started, but it devolved into something much uglier. He sought to shame me into choosing them, into walking away from school. I left, crushed and disappointed, but still unable to make the impossible possible and still convicted (even now) that school needed to take precedence.

Those memories still fresh and painful, I wrestled through this current situation with my Father and sought the opinions of my dad and a couple trusted friends. This time, as in December, all were in agreement: It’s not possible to do everything, and school wins. You have to talk to your managers.

But God, I committed to do this thing…

I can’t just walk away.

I will plow through… Right?

I really don’t want to have this conversation with them.

See what they say.

I don’t want to.

Why?

…because they will show kindness, understanding, mercy, and love.

Yes. Yes they will. When you admit your failure in humility and truth.

But I don’t deserve that.

Oh. I’m Jonah (sort of), refusing to obey because I believe the Ninevites are unworthy of God’s mercy. Who are the Ninevites? Huh. Oh. Me. I’m the Ninevites (sort of), in over my head and in need of a sudden and drastic shift in course. I’m Jonah and the Ninevites at the same time, needing to change course and repent but unwilling to grant myself the opportunity to experience mercy and grace. (Not a perfect comparison, but definitely a compelling application of this week's minor prophet.)

I stepped into my executive director’s office this morning, and he cheerfully started talking with me about ways to get me launched and running as a salesperson. He was excited as he laid out possible ways to facilitate my growth, apologizing as he went for the lack of training I’ve received up to this point… and I tried so hard to stay present with him, to be excited about the possibilities to grow. But anxiety grabbed my shoulders and tears filled my eyes.

Sensing his discomfort and confusion, I offered to interpret: “I would like to explain to you why I’m crying right now. Between school and this new job and getting sick this week… I am sinking. I would love to talk with you about some ways to reduce my commitment here this month…  I am so sorry I am not able to follow through when I committed to work with you guys on this.”

He ran to get me tissues, and as he came back, these were the words he had for me:
“You know, you really need to think about what will be best for you. We love you here, we consider you an asset, and we really just want you to be happy. So whatever we need to do, let’s do it.”

Speechless and wanting to weep, I uttered a most heartfelt thanks.

I did not deserve that response. And I got it twice, once from the executive director and once from the director of sales. Grace and love are powerful.

I’m grateful for this tangible reminder of the gift of God’s forgiveness, and brokenhearted to admit that I am not always so conscious of it.

Teachable moment!

Part of the process of counselor training is learning the art of self-care and boundaries. Walking forward, I would like to take with me the wisdom to seek counsel on big (also medium and smallish) decisions from people who will be willing to cut through my enthusiasm to help me consider things more fully. I just get so excited with people about things they're doing that sometimes my enthusiasm leads me down too many paths at the same time.

Here’s to the learning process.

And here’s to the God of grace and Father of mercies who never ceases to amaze.

The Fear of Falling on My Face

“Have you blogged recently?”

No. I haven’t. But I should… but I don’t have time.

That’s what I said earlier tonight in answer to a good question from a good friend.

I have spent the past couple of days in a frenzy of stress and anxiety. To hearken back to a metaphor all too familiar last year:

There is too much on my plate.

And I am terrified of failing (defined by me as doing less than my very best).

but GOD

has kind words. Today (and yesterday and the day before that and also the one before that) He has had words for me (and now you, too!) from Brennan Manning’s The Ragamuffin Gospel:

“Each of us pays a heavy price for our fear of falling flat on our faces. It assures the progressive narrowing of our personalities and prevents exploration and experimentation. As we get older we do only the things we do well. There is no growth in Christ Jesus without some difficulty and fumbling. If we are going to keep on growing, we must keep on risking failure throughout our lives…

“You know, in spite of the fact that Christianity speaks of the cross, redemption, and sin, we’re unwilling to admit failure in our own lives. Why? Partly because it’s human nature’s defense mechanism against its own inadequacies. But even more so, it’s because of the successful image our culture demands of us.”

I have a fear of not being successful. I have a fear of falling flat on my face. (I think I’ve even used that phrase in the past couple of weeks.) That fear of falling flat on my face is driving me to do things like:

worry so much about getting things done that I hesitate or refuse to spend time with people I love;

work so much I don’t properly care for my body, resulting in incredibly painful tension headaches;

hold so much anxiety about work and school that I am unpleasant and short with others;

and talk more about things on my to-do list than Jesus, who is awesome and deserves infinite praise, honor, and glory.

Brennan concludes the above thought with this statement: “The Christian with depth is the person who has failed and has learned to live with it.”

I have failed this week. I have failed to live in the Light of God's glory and in the freedom purchased for me on the cross. I have failed to resist the lie that this world is what ultimately matters, the lie that my value is determined by how well I perform or even how much effort I put forth. 

The truth is that even if I walked away from all of my responsibilities and started treating people like dirt,

I wouldn’t deserve God

any less

than if I lived up to all of my ridiculously high, perfectionistic standards.

I would still fall far short of His standard.

That is why He came. That is why He died.

Jesus has offered us an invitation to come home with Him, to be forever with God our Creator. THAT is what ultimately matters. And through Jesus (NOT by any effort, work, or brilliant insight of our own) we can have that.

As I reflect on this reality, I realize that falling on our faces is not something we should fear. It is something we ought to practice daily, that is, if we recognize and understand the glory of God. It is when we fall on our faces, humble and repentant, that we can arise clothed in grace, stand in the strength of Jesus, and walk by the Spirit.

My goal for April was to make it through April without falling on my face.

My new goal for April is to fall on my face every day, knowing that only by the grace of God do I have life and breath and strength for today.