* Donna's Nook *

Struggler

Having received requests for copies of material from this chapter in a book I am writing, I felt led to share the chapter in its entirety here. When naming the characters, there is a reflection on what the characters are experiencing or the position they hold in the story.

Chapter 12 . . . Struggler

For my thoughts are not your

thoughts, neither are your ways

my ways, declares the Lord.

(Isaiah 55:8)

Hello. My name is Struggler.

I am a Christian, and I struggle. It’s what I do. I seem to have it down to a science. It’s not that I want to struggle. It just seems to come naturally. Struggling is a multifaceted issue and a vicious cycle for me.

Perhaps you would allow me to share a few of those layers with you.

Learning by Example

Growing up, there was major risk involved when not doing the right thing, in the right way, at the right time, with just the right attitude.

Repeatedly, I tried to figure out what the dance step of the day was, as the emotional climate in our home could change quickly and frequently. It was like tip-toeing through a minefield, never knowing if I was about to detonate someone’s wrath. This put me on high alert.

Right seemed right, but right was often wrong in our household. Just about the time I was sure I had something figured out, I was shocked to find I had it totally wrong. At least, that is what I was told.

A prime example of this recurring phenomenon was when I received instruction on how to clean the house. The proper way was to dust the furniture first, then vacuum the floors. Careful to follow that guidance so as not to get into trouble, I was stunned when lambasted over doing my chores. As instructed. Suddenly, without warning or retraining, the protocol had changed.

One might think this would not be a big deal and, in a healthy environment, I would agree. However, in my family, simple issues became major dilemmas, with degradation and shaming as major players.

When most kids were grateful for school holidays, closings and summers off, I looked forward to going to school. Not necessarily to learn, but to escape. School provided a break from the ongoing family tensions, and the people there actually liked me.

I remember counting the years, months and days until I would leave home, figuring then I would be free to be me and do what I wanted to do. Free from criticism and condemnation. Life would be so fine!

What I did not take into consideration was the unhealthy dysfunction left home with me, like barnacles on a boat, following me from place to place and relationship to relationship.

History was repeating itself. Maybe not in the exact same way, but in similar ways. I chose relationships that either mirrored my upbringing or offered complete opposites of those dynamics. In both situations, I was hoping to right the sinking ship of my heart. To no avail.

Approximately forty years after my cleaning instruction, I married a man with a servant’s heart. After he retired, we began sharing the cleaning duties.

Our individual responsibilities fell into the following categories. Helper Husband would do the high dusting, including ceiling fans, vents and air filters. I would then dust the furniture. After my dusting was complete, Helper Husband would finish things off by vacuuming and mopping the floors.

We were a team, with a routine. However, somewhere along the way, things changed. Without discussion. Helper Husband began vacuuming prior to my finishing the furniture dusting. So guess what came flooding back to me: There is a right way and a wrong way to clean. We discussed this. I will put dust on your newly vacuumed floors! Why are you doing this?

I have heard the saying: Let sleeping dogs lie. However, sleeping dogs sometimes wake up, bark and bite at the most inopportune times. It is the same with unresolved childhood issues. They resurface years later. In the most unexpected ways.

Right, Enough and The Equation

I have struggled with many things, but I suppose my biggest struggle was whether I was doing something correctly. I wanted to get things right. Actually, I needed to get things right.

Repetitive, tormenting thoughts came frequently. Was I making good choices? Wise decisions? Did I have godly attitudes? The correct menu? A welcoming smile? The right everything?

Alongside the word right was the word enough.

Was I doing enough in the areas of Scripture reading, praying, serving, ministering, sacrificing, exercising, and financially saving? Did I display love, humility and boldness as I should? Was my cooking and cleaning up to par? And the list continued.

I had myself under my own self-imposed microscope.

I found the right and enough questions combined nicely, with the next question being: Was I doing the ‘enough’ stuff in the ‘right’ way?

A realization emerged that I had deeply embedded the following series of equations into my heart.

Enough + Right = Perfect

That sounds about right, doesn’t it? If I did ‘enough’ stuff in the ‘right’ way, I could achieve ‘perfection.’

This led to the belief . . .

Perfection produces approval, acceptance, belonging and safety.

In my heart, this equated to . . .

Love

Love was my motivation for these equations. My need for love. To be valued and to feel secure. Safe from the landmines of someone else’s anger and criticism. And, above all, to avoid rejection.

No Rest for the Weary

As Struggler, I had more questions than answers. Thus the struggle, I suppose.

When striving for love, acceptance and approval, there was an ever-present element of second-guessing, which could be never-ending, since there was always something that could have been done better or differently. This then became the focus. What was accomplished faded in the light of what needed to be revisited, rethought, redone or tweaked, creating tunnel vision. Laser focused on the redo, rest could come after perfection. And toiling and striving were perpetuated.

At some point, I realized perfection was rarely achieved, so I allowed myself the indulgence of acknowledging how tired I had become. If I pondered this for more than a minute, I permitted myself a second contemplation. To consider whether my mode of operation may be flawed.  

And then the “What Ifs” started.

What if . . . I stopped trying so hard to please others?

What if . . . I established healthy boundaries, which took me into consideration?

What if . . . my response to a request could include words like: “No,” “No thank you,” “Not this time,” “Put me on the list for next month?”

What if . . . I didn’t do anything? Would others still like me?

What if . . . they didn’t?

What if . . . I stopped performing for love, acceptance and approval?

Like a sunrise, I slowly realized there was a deeper issue than the question: Was I ‘doing’ this right? The core issue for me had to do with my identity.

Was I right?

Was I really okay?

Was not only what I did acceptable, but was I acceptable?

Was I lovable?

Was I acceptable for who I was, not just based on what I did or didn’t do?

Was just being me enough?

As I gave serious thought to various Scriptures ensuring God’s love, I made an all-important decision. To quit.

Quit . . . being a chameleon, doing whatever it took to please someone else.

Quit . . . striving, toiling and second-guessing.

Quit . . . over committing.

I chose love, rest, and the security of who I was in Christ. And it felt good. Really good.

Yet, after a much-needed time of rest from the press of striving, my life felt anemic. At least in the striving, there was a sense of purpose. I was doing something. This mindset pumped me up to try again, harder and with more resolve, which started the cycle all over again. Sometimes worse than before.

The introspection wore me out more than anything. Amid it all, I heard a cry coming from deep within my heart: Would someone please help me off this hamster wheel!

Here Comes the Judge

As Struggler, I did a lot of self-blame, which compounded the existing feelings of guilt, shame and condemnation.

When something did not go well or someone questioned or criticized me, I figured I had messed up. I assumed I had done something wrong. My default was: It has to be my fault.

Then, what I call the “If Onlys” began.

If only . . . I had not said this or done that.

If only . . . I had handled things differently.

If only . . . I had made better choices.

If only . . . I had not been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Regret was a hard place in which to live. It was a mixture of self-blame and self-analysis, with the event stuck on replay in my mind. It was as if I were in my own constructed courtroom of sorts, holding many self-appointed positions.

Presenting evidence against myself to myself, I had multiple conversations with myself.

Deliberations began as I argued each side, becoming both Defense and Prosecuting Attorney.

On the Prosecution side, I provided a comprehensive analysis of my shortcomings, outlined specific mistakes, and explained my perspective on how the situation should have been handled. From this position, I had expert hindsight.

On the Defense side, I cut myself a break or two with some excuses and explanations which sounded good, but did little to negate the mound of evidence to the contrary and nothing to ease the feelings of shame and condemnation, giving only a brief reprieve, lasting the time taken to state my case.

After this period of examination and cross-examination within, the Prosecution and Defense rested their cases.

The evidence was now in the hands of Judge and Jury, producing yet another round of deliberations. Evidence was reviewed. Questions asked. Clarifications requested. Opinions shared. Conclusions reached.

These were precarious moments, as the future of those involved hung in the balance.

After much debate and repeated threats of a mistrial, the Jury Spokesperson and Judge, who both bore a striking resemblance to me, announced the verdict and delivered the sentence.

Depending on my state of mind, I may have appealed the decision if rendered a guilty verdict, desperate to defend myself. I may have also appealed the verdict if pronounced not guilty, unable to accept grace, mercy or non-perfection, becoming my own Jailer.

The appeal process kept the case alive, with hopes for resolution and exoneration. Yet, when granted exoneration, many times I could not receive it.

After the appeal processes were exhausted, so was I.

But my heart to please, perform and perfect pushed me down the path of struggling, striving and toiling to achieve, accomplish and arrive at my desired goal. To be loved, accepted and to gain the approval of others.

Case in Point

As I attended a church service one evening, I saw some friends on the other side of the sanctuary. At the conclusion of the service, I asked if they would pray for me, as I was struggling with pain across my upper back, from shoulder to shoulder. As they prayed, one lady saw a vision. She asked permission to share, and I agreed. I was in a place spiritually where I was hungry for more of the Lord and, if He had something to communicate, I was ready to listen.

She said she saw a Pit Bull dog. The Pit Bull represented me, hard after the things of God. But I was way out in front of Jesus. She further said that Jesus needed me to “get this” . . . He wanted me to come back, be by His side and rest.

As I pondered and agreed to this in my heart, I saw myself do just that. As I came back to the Lord’s side, He took the leash and collar off, so-to-speak, because He could trust me to stay with Him. This was to be a position of ease, rather than striving after God. Moving when God moved and resting when He rested. Like following His cloud and pillar of fire when the Israelites left Egypt.

One would think that would be the end of the matter. God had spoken. I had obeyed. Life should be easier. So, what was the problem? Like a soldier at attention, I became aware I was striving to be sure I wasn’t striving. What a paradox. Almost laughable, unless you are the person stuck in that whirlwind cycle.

Blame Shifting

Blame-shifting is another dynamic that existed in the courtroom.

I recognized there were layers of blame in my heart against myself, others and God. This is where my protective and defensive instincts emerged.

Safely preserving the records of wrongs done against me, along with justifications for the cynical and judgmental attitudes lodged in my heart, I was ready at a moment’s notice to present the evidence of “how someone had done me wrong.” When called upon, there was a flurry of activity. Shields went up. Arguments were in place.

If I could shine the light on what others did to me, perhaps I could sidestep acknowledging how embittered I had become. Pointing fingers at their sins, faults and wrongdoings, I hoped to convince a jury the perpetrators were to blame for all my life’s troubles, including my current condition and attitudes, which I justified as understandable.

My goal was to secure convictions of the transgressors. Then, I would surely prove my innocence regarding the many years I endured false accusations. As well, their guilty verdict would legitimize my self-righteous attitudes. I might even receive the coveted pardon declaration: It wasn’t your fault.

The blame against God typically sounded like: How could a loving God allow…? This question was actually more of an accusation and demand for an explanation of His actions, or lack thereof, than it was me seeking to understand.

When agreement from others that the perpetrators were to blame did little to stop the internal dialogue, a realization slowly emerged. Until I dealt with the pain, judgments, blame, unforgiving attitudes, ungodly beliefs and equations which were lodged in my heart, not much would change. And the reel-to-reel tapes would continue to play.

Faulty Thinking

On closer examination, I realized approval-based motivation was flawed at its core.

Accolades received through my faulty system of performing for love, acceptance and approval were short-lived. Like a drug, more and more approval was required to ensure the level of security I craved. With the approval fix lasting only so long, I then needed to do more in order to get more. 

Here I was with an approval addiction and a flawed system; yet, unable and unwilling to let go of it without another system to take its place. And the question became: How do I achieve this without striving?

The thought of changing my mode of operation felt foreign, like wearing shoes on the wrong feet. Or being lost in the woods, where all the trees looked the same. This was uncharted territory for me.

I first wanted to know what it would look like to replace my defective system. What would this involve? I needed assurances and guarantees from the Lord. I also wanted the last word, including veto power, concerning whatever He might have in mind.

But God’s ways were not my ways, and He wanted me to trust Him.

As the first person to walk on the moon, Neil Armstrong said: That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind. Trusting may be easy for some, but it was a giant leap for me.

I had barnacles of broken trust attached to my heart, resulting in a boatload of mistrust. And mistrust had babies along the way. Self-protection. Self-provision. Self-reliance. And Independence. To name a few. They were my coping mechanisms and my security systems.

I had important decisions to make. Was I going to stay the same, doing the same things in the same way, expecting different results? Or was I going to embrace change, not knowing fully what it entailed, including what the Lord might require of me?

Staying the same was not palatable, but promised the comfort of familiarity. The thought of change was uncomfortable; yet, change offered the possibility of something better.

In the End

It was God’s kindness that led me to repentance (Romans 2:4). I repented of living life on my terms. In prayer, I gave Him my ways, my thoughts, my equations, my coping mechanisms, my ingrained ungodly beliefs, and my faulty systems of operation to cope with pain.

I also repented of allowing the barnacles of unforgiveness, anger, blame, mistrust, bitterness and resentment a place of habitation and asked the Lord to change the landscape of my heart (Psalm 51:10).

The process of repentance was powerful. It was not a chore, a formula, or something to do to manipulate God. It was and continues to be a privilege. I repented, not because I feared harsh chastisement from the Lord. I repented out of my love for Him. God made it clear I had access to His throne of mercy, so it was a safe place to be real.

2 Corinthians 7:10 says: Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death.

God’s prescription genuinely healed my broken heart. He broke the power of the lies I believed, replacing them with His truth. There was no further need to manage pain, shame and condemnation. And no more performance-driven equations to work from.

The process I thought might be scary became a welcomed combination of spring cleaning (Psalm 51:7) and spring planting (Isaiah 61:3). He replaced my ungodly beliefs with his truth (John 8:32). He washed me clean of my best efforts (Isaiah 64:6). And gave me a new, upgraded, state-of-the-art operating system (Isaiah 55:9).

With the clutter and fog diminishing, there was room to consider I might actually be who God said I was, not what critical or condemning voices proclaimed.

The Lord brought me into a clearing where my view and internal dialogue became different. Instead of living from the “What Ifs” and “If Onlys,” I began to live from the “As Ifs.”

As if . . . God’s love for me is unconditional, despite His being fully aware of my shortcomings.

As if . . . the Creator already approves of me. Approves of who He created me to be, knowing there would be things we would work on. Together.

As if . . . my arrival at the point of exhaustion caused by toiling and striving was really a starting point for flowing with the Lord.

As if . . . I have access to God’s heart, with Him wanting to spend deep, meaningful time with me.

As if . . . Micah 6:8 is true: He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.

Could it really be that simple? Believing these “As Ifs” were truths, there was a deep desire to just be in His presence. In this place, the Lord's opinion of me became the only one that mattered. Being with Jesus actually brought the love, acceptance, approval, security and safety I desired.

God’s motivation for what He does is in who He is. Scripture tells us in 1 John 4:8: God is love. Everything He does emanates from who He is. Love is His starting point. He gives love freely. My motivation was to earn love through a series of equations which, I believed, would secure the love I was searching for from the Lord and others.

That is manipulation, no matter how you dress it up.

Having experienced God’s love firsthand on so many levels, I could spot the counterfeit more easily. I now call foul ball regarding hurtful words. Foul balls are those that are hit out of bounds. There is no reason to run after them, since no one gets on base.

My desire would be to report there is no longer a struggle in this area; however, it is an ongoing journey. Performing for love, acceptance, approval and belonging is like melting ice cream on a hot summer day. It seeps into a lot of nooks and crannies, is quite sticky, draws unwanted critters and smells bad, if left unattended.

If splinters of ‘performance’ surface, I quickly invite Jesus to speak truth and ask Him to use His tweezers to remove what might fester, produce infection or cause future problems.

Toiling and striving have now taken their rightful places as words in the dictionary. I have traded in the self-powered, wearying hamster wheel for an effortless Ferris wheel ride with the Lord, seeing things from a higher viewpoint.

My systems brought regret, striving and weariness. His principles brought forgiveness, cleansing, joy and hope. I am much happier living from the Lord’s perspective and from His assurance of my value and worth. And so is everyone around me. I now have something to give in relationships, rather than looking to people for what I can get to meet my needs.

It is true others did not show love to me as my Heavenly Father would have preferred. It is also true that I repeated those unhealthy and ungodly cycles. What astounds me is that God perfectly loves those of us who love imperfectly. To the degree that I allowed Him access to my heart, beliefs and equations, my “history” became “his story,” a testimony of God’s goodness rather than a continual “woe is me” recital.

Blame is lame. Taking responsibility for my reactions to others’ actions was the key to my freedom. Forgiving those who distorted love, I blessed them. Asking for and receiving forgiveness from God for those same shortcomings, I forgave myself and embraced being an imperfect child of a perfect God.

Imperfection, not a put-down or something to be used as an excuse for sin or a stance of defiance or defense. Rather, there is an awareness of human frailty, reflecting my continuous need of the Lord as Savior, Friend, Comforter, Confidante and Redeemer.

God, who is perfect, wants to spend time with imperfect me. It is amazing how pain leaves where truth resides.

Careful not to judge one person’s struggle against another’s, I am becoming more aware we all have our Struggler moments in one form or another.