Strength + Control

Growing up as the only girl in a military home, I have spent the majority of my life subconsciously believing that strength is the ultimate superlative. It was never an overt declaration, as most internalized beliefs aren’t. The idea was so fundamental that it never even occurred to me to address it or recognize that it wasn’t a universal standard. Between wrestling and racing my brothers, being the only girl in an annual vacation of 10 kids, and even committing to Air Force ROTC, strength just seemed to be ingrained in the way I viewed the world. To that end, many of my proudest moments revolve around exhibiting some sort of mental toughness. Surviving a horrific jaw surgery by pretending I was a prisoner of war, starting a dance team against the odds, and doing well at a the Air Force summer seminar are a few examples. In retrospect, strength had become my weakness. Or rather, the unrealistic expectations I had set for myself around the concept.

At first, the idea of pursuing strength in all aspects doesn’t seem so bad. Since I’ve never really been known for my weight-lifting maxes (much to the chagrin of my brothers), my reverence for strength was more mental than physical. In a concrete way, that just means I rarely cry, I try to handle my own problems, and I’m always up for a challenge. Sounds good right? Not completely… What this world view doesn’t provide me is a realistic sense of my own weakness and inherent human vulnerability, a true appreciation for community in accepting and supporting each other in our deficiencies, or, by far most alarmingly, a real sense of my need for a Savior. If life is so fine and dandy and I can handle anything that comes my way, then why the heck did Jesus find the world broken enough to need to die for it? Why did He need to die for me? It doesn’t line up.

The first time I consciously perceived I had a skewed world view regarding strength was my freshman year at Vandy. Out of seemingly nowhere, I started getting incredibly anxious thinking about a brief relationship I had with a guy a few years before that. It was one of those not-a-relationship relationships that seem to be so prevalent in our twitter generation. We like our tweets short and our commitments shorter. Anyway, years later, I felt ambushed by the pain in memories I didn’t even know existed. In an attempt to unconsciously salvage my illusion of control, I had apparently cut off all emotions. I had acted so cavalierly at the time; I was shocked to realize how upset I was a once the whole thing was nothing more than a distant memory. Although it seems odd, these memories actually threw me into a bit of a crisis mode. What it boiled down to was the fact that I had always prided myself on being so internally “tough;” if I was truly vulnerable, did I even know who I was? And if I didn’t know myself, did I really know anything? “Freaked out” is an understatement. I had trouble sleeping and started running at 3am (not a wise choice in the middle of a city). I once felt like I was drowning in class and had to leave the room, and I would replay thoughts over and over. All the while, I couldn’t shed a tear. Although I tried desperately, I just couldn’t cry. Long story short, I ended up coming to terms with my own susceptibility to pain a few months later, when I was a camp counselor and had some amazing friends to help me work through my thoughts. In my weakness, I was able to bond with others and accept their love and guidance. Through prayer, reflection, and the help of God and others, the curse was broken (and I finally cried!)

Now here I am. I survived the first refining process, yet it seems I have MORE to learn about weakness. The Lord clearly didn’t think my little freshman breakdown was sufficient. Yep. Having to take a semester off from school because of some freaky tick-borne illness is basically the definition of weakness. In fact, I just used thesaurus.com for “weak,” and “sickly” came up. Good. Anyways, beyond the obvious point that being sick means I’m not physically at my peak, this semester has also driven home some really valuable, yet painful, lessons that I likely could not have learned otherwise. Despite all my planning and enthusiasm, I’m not in control of my life. If I was, I certainly wouldn’t be away from school. Although I’m feeling really well right now, there have been some times when I absolutely needed someone to take care of me. It doesn’t make me a lesser person; it just means I’m human. And humans need each other. More than that, humans need God. And He’s exactly who I’ve had to call on when many times this season of my life. As much as I love my family and my friends, they can’t always be there with me. And even if they could, they can’t always provide what I need. Just like I’m human, they are too. Which means we’re all weak! In the times where I feel like I’m physically crumbling, I feel especially compelled to seek the Source of strength read the Bible. Once, I was so weak from Lyme that I literally couldn’t sit up or even hold a Bible, so I had my phone read it aloud. Nothing else could possibly comfort me at that time. And you know what (my phone) read to me?

1 Peter 4:1-2 (MSG): Since Jesus went through everything you’re going through and more, learn to think like him. Think of your sufferings as a weaning from that old sinful habit of always expecting to get your own way. Then you’ll be able to live out your days free to pursue what God wants instead of being tyrannized by what you want.

Woah. I swear I’d never read that verse, and now it’s become one of my overarching verses for this period of my life. In the times where I feel incapable, I know I don’t have to be the capable one anyway. It makes everything peaceful.

Aside from the physical portion of Lyme, which has been slowly abating, I’ve also had to intermittently deal with the neurological effects. These effects, maybe even more than physical ones, have really disintegrated my facade of “toughness” to reveal my powerlessness. Although it’s rare, I’ve had a few full-fledged panic attacks, generally caused by my fear that I’m going to worsen my sickness. Just the other week, I found myself in a bathroom stall at the airport, bawling crying. Because this had happened a few times before, I knew I just had to breathe and wait it out. I was petrified that being around so many people would give me another illness (since I’ve caught mono, strep, and a stomach bug in similar situations of crowds already). Still, I would never have panicked like that before all this. It’s like a foreign voice pops into my head and tells me horrible, untrue things about how I’ll never get better or no one loves me etc. The voice even sounds unlike my own. Creepy, I know. Anyways, in that moment, I knew that the thoughts and fears out of my control; all I could do was respond by trusting that the Lord is good and will not leave me. So I waited on the panic to subside, I grabbed my bags, and I boarded the plane like nothing had happened. And it was gone just as quickly as it came.

Although these symptoms are harrowing in their own way, they’ve also taught me so much about myself, the human condition, and the nature of perspective. Here’s an analogy: My life is a plane, and I’m the pilot. All my days, I’ve been cruising along, flying my little plane by making decisions and watching the outcomes. What I didn’t realize is that, even though I’m the pilot and ultimately have the power to make major decisions about where I take my plane, I’m not the only informant. Because if I’m the pilot, then God is the Air Traffic Controller, who has perfect knowledge of all the plane flight schedules, storms, and whatever else may be out there. He can see it all; I, on the other hand, can only see what’s right in front of me. Therefore, my only job is to listen to the Controller through my little headset (let it be prayer, community, the Bible, nature, etc) as he guides me. I have to trust that he knows everything and is telling me what’s best for my plane and me, even if I don’t necessarily understand. He, after all, is the one with the informed perspective. Trusting and relinquishing is difficult, but it’s imperative in order to get past myself and accomplish true glory for the name of Christ. Just like it’s imperative for the pilot to have a safe journey.