Needy

“Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

It’s weird – the school year can get so busy, as in do-I-have-time-to-eat-supper-or-should-I-grade-more-papers busy. I can grow weary teaching, but I’m occupied, so if there is something that requires much introspection, I don’t have to face it. In fact, if I have 110 students to consider, that is much simpler than dealing with my own heart.

The school year is finished; it has been for a month, and I’m enjoying summer. I had hopes for summer. Enjoy being outside. Visit friends and family. Write. Read. Make up all those devotions I skim over in the school year. Work some in the classroom. Make next year better.

And what have I been doing? Praying…constantly. Battling. Searching for God’s holiness. Being inefficient. Recognizing that sometimes I blame others for things that I need to carry over to the Lord. Realizing what makes me so stubborn and independent, and that as much as these qualities have helped, they have also hurt me. Learning that God uses advocates like co-workers and friends and a perceptive sister to show me I am not alone. Not in the physical sense…because I go home and so do they, and we all become our alone selves and battle different things…but in the spiritual sense.

I’m not as independent as I thought. Nor do I want to be. I mean. I want to be able to sustain myself, but that desire has built the largest of brick walls between me and Jesus. Independence helped me fearlessly head to college, take out loans, go to Alaska and New Mexico and accept a job in an Indiana town without knowing anyone. But it also has wounded my perception of myself and others. I know that Christ offers redeeming grace for these sins and a promise. I don’t have to carry the weight of my own failures and successes.  

There is a basic fear among us, I think - anticipation of loneliness. Of separation. Whether we are currently alone or not makes no difference. The unknown future can make us stir crazy. Or maybe we’re surrounded by people or have kids or a husband (even a supportive one at that) or lots of family. Wherever we are currently, we can always be just a little unsettled. A 2 AM writing session unsettled. An I’m-aggravated-so-I’ll-snap-at-you unsettled. An I’m-going-to-make-this-perfect unsettled. A like-and-comment-but-what-now? unsettled.

I used to believe the root to my anxious heart was because of my ability to be alone. Or should I say tendency to be alone? Because it’s not that I always want it to be that way. In fact, I often consider whether moving to a small town and making mostly married friends was a good choice. Naturally, I can’t call a friend up to go hiking for the day on a whim. They have children to always think of. And I’m not in their position. So they may feel the same toward me. “What can we do with her that would be fun for the family, too?” I like to say that I choose to be alone, but that is not the case. I guess I think it makes me look strong.

Anyway, it has made me believe that these anxieties would go away if someone else were just there. Though I know it would help in some situations, I don’t think it would heal my anxious heart completely. I can’t blame it on differing lifestyles among my friends and me. I can’t blame it on others.

Even now…even at two in the morning…I feel the need to interrupt this time writing with a quick Facebook check, like someone may have sent me something since mid-night.

Out in public we look around when we leave our cars in case someone knows us to keep up appearances. We fixate on what others think we are. We probably have triple-checked our outfits before we left, and still we glance in whatever reflects to make sure we look okay.

We demand people see us.

[rough transition that I don’t know how to fix]

I’ve been taking care of this dog. I could include a couple expletives before the “dog” in that sentence, but I’ll refrain. My friends think she was abused in earlier years. She snaps if you touch her paws or her face, and when you feed her she downs her supper in three bites flat. She whines all through the night (she is just now sleeping of course), she can’t see so she sometimes barks into the void of a dark room. She can’t hear well so it’s impossible to scold her via vocals. She follows you everywhere and can find you in a flash because her nose is still working quite well. And she sits way, waaaaay too close if you’re on the couch. She is clingy.

A long time ago I had a clingy friend I didn’t handle well as I hid in the jungle gym until she moved away. Likewise, my mom used to request daily hugs. I’d bring up one hand and pat her back and retreat to my room. I don’t always handle affection well.

I like my own space. Sometimes it’s really true. I’m in my own zone, and I need time to think, or I’m around hundreds of people in the day and need, just, a two-foot radius. On the other hand, sometimes I pull out these qualities to explain why I am ever involuntarily alone.

I have a feeling, though, that I’ve developed this (I begrudgingly say it) clinginess. I suck so I pray. I feel alone, so I check messages. I’m hungry, so I eat pie (not whole pies. At this point in my life, it’s still just slices). I have something to say so I Tweet it. I want to not be noticed so I sulk and watch Netflix. I see a huge gap of time to fill so I wile it away. I go to church and realize striking up conversation is uncomfortable. As I walk away to my car I think, “But I don’t want to spend my Sunday afternoon alone.”

We are needy, needy people. We NEED Jesus. We need grace. It’s not something we can give ourselves.

I’m finding that my friend’s dog is on her best behavior when I just let her follow me or lay by me, or even – yes – when I pat her back as I lay in bed and she whimpers at 2 AM. She’s breaking down my bubble. Jesus had to bear hell for us – all of humanity – and I can barely humble myself for a dog. But I expect everything from Christ. And I take. I willfully sin in the midst of his grace. I follow him when I want or when I need to be calm. I do these things. At some points I walk with him, but most of the time I take and still remain very worried about how life will be. 

This verse found me as soon as I thought to write tonight: “Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.”

An anxious heart is an ongoing thing. So is a relationship with Jesus.

I’m happy to have had the time to discover this message this summer. Teachers really do need summer you guys, and I promise that in a psychological sense these days are no better than school days. Don’t become a teacher for the summers – just don’t.

Good night, all.