I remember years ago a brother in Christ gave me a prophetic word, “You are a perfectionist”. I nodded in agreement and smiled. I thought it was a compliment. Its only now years later that I’m starting to learn how deceptive perfectionism is. As my friends and I navigate life with its high highs and low lows, our mid 30s are teaching us that no one gets through this journey unscathed.
We add notches of undesirable experiences to our belts. We realize the black and white of our 20s and early 30s has now morphed into shades of gray. And all the while God battles on our behalf…
I find it interesting in this season of quiet that He is most vocal when things are in an upheaval. I struggle with resentment about that. I struggle with resentment about a lot of things.
I ask Him questions like, “Where is the restoration?” I know that the question cannot be answered unless it is asked. I know He will answer in His own way. In His own time.
Time has always been difficult for me. I have always been prompt yet surrounded by many who are not. I watch the clock and the seconds turn into minutes and the minutes turn into hours. I watch and watch and there is no movement. I know He tests me with time because of my own impatience. Even this knowledge does not seem to make me any more patient.
I sat across from my counselor and she asked, “Do you know why God makes the journey difficult?” I sat looking back at her blankly. I really had no clue. She responded, “So that you remember that you need Him.” A light bulb went on in my head.
I need Him.
Oh yea, that’s right. I keep forgetting that. I have this vision of what my life should be like, of what I want to do and accomplish and deep inside I feel that if given the chance I can just make it happen. But then I fall short. My insecurities and my issues and my fears surface, and I make a mess of things. I am faced once again with my own imperfections.
But slowly, I am giving up that feat. I am letting go of this idea of what being a Christian is supposed to mean, and what being single is supposed to mean, and what being me is supposed to mean.
There is a freedom in laying down a standard that was self imposed and never really accurate anyway.
There is a freedom I am discovering in my mid 30s.