I Got Them Moves, Mick Jagger

There is something kind of awesome about watching a person do what he or she is meant to be doing.  Maybe this is what has always drawn me to pro sports.  There's something beautiful about a pitcher throwing a no-hitter, or a perfectly-executed pass resulting in a goal.  When I see SportsCenter's Top 10, I can't look away.
To matters more close-at-hand, there are some instructors at my gym who are excellent.  They don't spend a lot of time talking, they don't guilt you into responding to questions like, "Are you warm yet!?", they make "increased weight factor" sound like a good thing and they make complicated dance steps look smooth.  When I'm in their classes, I get a great workout, but I also get to see someone who is in that sweet spot.
How many of us really get to earn a living in the sweet spot?  How many of us wake up in the morning and fill our days with the activity about which we are most passionate?  How many of us can do what we were born to do and put food on the table?  I would guess the answer is some of us, but not many.
I get that work is supposed to be hard.  It's in the Bible, the land is cursed and we will have to toil and sweat to survive on it.  The thing is, I don't mind working hard if I believe in the cause.  This morning, for instance, it was monsooning outside.  I had been up late last night, but woke up early on this rainy Saturday so that I could run a few errands.  I hydroplaned my way along the highway to reach the farmers' market, got wet and dirty carrying mums to my car and I was singing the whole way.  Why?  Because my errands and my early wake-up call were for a women's ministry breakfast happening at church today.  I was excited to get there and to pull together the last-minute details.  There were extra hours at church this week setting up and tearing down this breakfast, but I didn't mind.
In contrast, my other job also had me working long hours this week.  Meetings, workshops, and paperwork have filled my days.  What can't be done at work gets carried home.  There hasn't been a moment this month when I have been officially caught-up and I hate it.  I feel like a cute little hamster running running running on a wheel that goes nowhere.  I've lost passion for what I do, even though I know I'm good at it.  It doesn't matter if you're good when the people above you constantly remind you that you're not good enough.
So when I see a fitness instructor dancing her heart out, smiling and sweating away, I think about that sweet spot and I wonder how I am going to get there.

Dear God, Don't Let Me Fall Apart

I’ve been in a strange place lately—and I don’t mean Milwaukee. I mean, for the past week or so, I’ve cried at least once a day. Thursday’s tears lasted for an entire 30-minute car ride, but most days they’ve only lasted a couple minutes. A friend of mine texted me on Thursday to ask if I was OK (she’d seen me after the teary ride to work) and my response was, “I think I’m getting soft.”

Confidence hasn’t really been a problem for me—except for those two God-forsaken years in middle school. Competence hasn’t really been a problem for me, either, so waking up in the morning, riddled with anxiety and fear, has really taken me by surprise. My usual approach to work and to ministry has been to speak loudly and carry a big stick, but lately, facing my job has shaken me. Add to that the new responsibilities of overseeing my church’s women’s ministry and…oh my goodness…

As awful as these weeks have been, I am not ready to leave this place where I am so acutely aware of my need for a mighty God. The alarm goes off and I want to pull the madras bedspread over my head and hide, but then I start praying, pleading, begging—God, get me through this day. Help me to be good enough for these people I’m working with. Help me not to lose control.

At the end of every day, I’ve been taking stock: There weren’t any brawls. I didn’t say anything hurtful. I accomplished some items on the to-do list. And, more than ever before, I know that those victories did not come about because of my ability or my preparation. They happened because my God took care of me.

It’s a strange thing for me to see God showing up and fighting for me. Of course He has been forever, but the problem with being independent is that I am more likely to give myself credit for the day’s win. Being a useless weakling has stirred in me an incredible affection for this One who steps into my reality and carries me through these days that I simply cannot face on my own.

At some point, my life will become predictable again. Once the tears dry up, I will start believing that it’s my self-discipline or my fancy education that has brought me here. When I overlook the dependence, I will also miss the closeness and the affection. The trick is to stay dependent without being a total mess.