Need for Value

You know those occasional blog posts I do that are really just a way for me to cry out and see if anyone’s listening and if anyone knows or understands how I feel? This is one of those. So, if you’re not interested, don’t continue.

I’m the third child in my family, the youngest. And, quite frankly, sometimes I feel like I’m the least noticeable. I don’t try to make trouble for my parents. Lord knows they have enough on their plates as is. But often I feel like I’m a mistake, like I’m extra. Now, my family would vehemently deny this, but it’s true. I feel as though sometimes I’m a random accident. My sister, well, she’s a miracle child. I’ve heard the story of her birth so many times I could recite it backwards and forwards. But me? I’m nothing special. I just randomly popped out about twenty months after she did.

And often, I feel like, for better and worse, I live in the shadows of my siblings. Which is really frustrating, let me tell you.

I need to find a purpose! And not like I need to read A Purpose-Driven Life. I mean that these days I struggle to find a reason for my existence. I look for a purpose. Why am I here? And if someone recites the idiotic catechism about the chief role of man is to praise God and honor him, I’m going to scream. Because, while that is my ultimate purpose, there’s times when I need something more concrete, something that says I’m not a mistake. I need to know that I’m worth the time. That I’ll be remembered. That I’m not a worthless piece off biology that came into being.

I know that for some people, this sounds ludicrous. Stupid even. But, I’ll imagine that most of you are extremely secure in your positions in your family and don’t have a precarious field that is your realm of study (or you’re a teenager whose main goal in life is to have fun and survive high school).

I guess part of this is issues from this summer, where I worked behind the scenes at a camp, and I felt like, other than making some money for college, I didn’t do anything of value or significance.  And I’m still struggling because, unlike my siblings, I feel like I have to work extremely hard to fight to just be me, to prove to myself and people around me that I am worth it! That I have some value.

And I’m studying in a really small field in a super selective program. Again, chosen because of my rather paltry skill set, and because I felt like it would get me to my goals. But unlike so many in my major, I suffer from feeling like a fraud of a writer. I’m not active enough in my writing or prolific. I don’t succeed where so many others have. I’m just average. I’m just boring. So, am I worth it?

Great question, answers…. Lacking, I’m afraid. How do you prove to yourself that you have significance and value? I don’t know. I need to have a real purpose, something that God has that only I can do. I know, that’s likely rather prideful and pig-headed. But it’s something that I know I need. I need to know that I’m not a mistake, or a failure. I want so desperately to know God’s plan for me because then I could say definitively that there is a specific reason I am here and that God did not create someone else in my stead.

So, is there anyone else out there like me? Or am I alone in the questions and doubts? And fears?

Apologies

Well, I guess I ought to apologize, at least to those who enjoy reading my blog somewhat often. This last semester has been insane. I was taking 18 credit hours at Taylor, so the blog became less important in my priorities.  

This post is not going to be really very inspirational. Mostly I’m just saying sorry that I dropped the ball in keeping up my blog. I started it as a discipline, writing a new post each week. I will start posting more regularly again this summer. And after a semester of absence, I think I have quite a bit of material to write from. Plus this summer presents some challenges too. But I will get back to writing again. This is a promise I make to myself and to you all who read this blog.

Thank you who do read the blog and have helped me through this last year. It has been a wild ride. But I hope that it only continues. God has plans for my life, and for the lives of those I love. I can’t wait to see them.

After all, I believe that the best is yet to come.

Nathan

Death Be Not Proud

"DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so."
 --Death Be Not Proud, John Donne

Death, be not proud. There is no pride in anything you did today. You stole life from a great man, a beloved man.

Josh Larkin was a great man of God. I did not know him well, not beyond a few interactions during lunch or the occasional time I saw him on his floor. But even to me, his fire and passion were clearly seen. They warmed my heart. His presence encouraged those who knew him. He created music and movies. He worshiped God with every breath. He loved his Maker.

Death, be not proud.

Josh Larkin was a Media Comm major. His soul burned brightly with creativity. he played in Worship bands in Chapel, small groups, and Living Waters. He prayed with those in need. He gave of himself selflessly. He shone with the Light of his Savior.

Death, be not proud. For in your hollow supposed victory, you have lost. You have no power here. You may have taken Josh's life, but, poor Fool, you can never have his soul.

Within hours of Josh's death, the men of Sammy gathered in the Foundation lobby, praying for one another and grieving. When asked to go outside, they did without comment, silence reigning in respect and shock. News traveled quickly. By the time I returned to the dorm at 8:20, many people from all over campus sat around the dorm, praying for the men living inside and crying, sobbing, asking God, "Why?" Why did he die? What went wrong? What could we, could I have done? Josh was much beloved on campus.

Professors I knew and even the president of Taylor University, Gene Habecker, came to the dorm, meeting with us men, talking with us, hugging us, praying with us. There was and is nothing they could say to take away the sharp pain of losing such a wonderful man.

So, Death, be not proud. In your haste to snuff out the light of Josh's soul, you have failed extinguish the Light.

Tonight, many on campus came to a quick, small memorial service to process and pray. Songs were sung, verses from the Psalms and the Beatitudes we said, and Randy and Gene spoke to us as a body of believers. Students and faculty came to process the horror that Death had wrought. But in his death, we all remember Josh's light, the same light that made us love him. His honest, unassuming manner made us feel free around him. His light drew people to him, and ignited the wicks of their hearts.

"One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die."

Death, be not proud. Where is your sting? Where is your victory?

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
--Romans 8:38-39

Rest in peace, Josh.

Wounded Healers

So, I guess it might be one of those "back to square one" moments.

Let me explain myself. I know this may seem rather annoying, but I just realized that, in so many words, something I'd thought I'd gotten over I actually haven't. It just came back with a new face. The name of this nasty "thing"? Listening to the Mirror.

Once upon a time the evil Queen asked her Mirror who was the fairest in all the land. Ever since that day, we humans have looked to mirrors, both real and metaphysical, to define us. Not that I'm bashing real mirrors. I rather like the real ones, because they're nice enough to tell me whether I look nice or like a slob, or when I have a pimple that looks like a third eye protruding from the middle of my forehead. What I hate are the metaphysical ones. Because the fact is the old saying, "Mirrors never lie" is false in and of itself.

Now, I guess in reality, I'm not talking about mirrors but about Satan. I'm talking about how he just loves to make me look at a warped view of myself, a destructive window to my soul, and then try to take away every single shred of joy or happiness I could try to have. He makes me focus on my failures to the point where I'm completely blinded to anything but them. And I begin to despair because of those failures. I guess I'm kind of good at that. In fact, from what my friends keep telling me, I tend to focus on everything I do wrong a lot. But, because I am me, a recovering perfectionist and a rather hurt soul, I see what I do wrong a lot more than I see what I do right.

And for me, because I know I struggle with pride, it feels a lot safer to focus on everything about me that I hate, that I don't like or that I do wrong than what I like about myself and what I do right. I know that it seems rather stupid, but it makes sense in my mind. Plus, after years upon years of doing it, it's become a habit.

And of course other thoughts revolve in my head about this, but I'm pretty sure you don't want to read them. Knowing and commiserating with my struggle is one thing. Hearing about it constantly, without any hope of resolution, of any healing or end? Well, who'd want to read about that?

Ironically, I was taught a truth about myself from the most unlikely place: Grumpy the dwarf. In the show Once Upon A Time, he says to Snow White that pain is important. Rather than take anything that could make him forget, he'd rather hold on to the pain. It made him who he was, became a part of his character. it made him Grumpy.

Now, I'm not saying being a grumpy person is a good thing! Been there, done that, looking for a lighter so I can burn the T-shirt. But the fact is that we "walking wounded," as Henri Nouwen might put it, are wounded healers. We know pain, we know hurt, and because of that we know how to help others with the pain. We know the pain. We know the deep, deep hurt. We wounded healers know the how deep the depths of despair can be. We know the feelings of hopelessness, so we know how to give hope. We see where people are, and we can show them the light by which we see so they can leave the pits, the valleys of Death's enormous shadows.

Now that may seem like wishful thinking on my part, but I know this to be true. Not that I have helped others, but because I have been helped by others. Others who have gone through the same things. And others who have found ways out of the pain of failure. People who have found victory.

These people have led me to Christ. He, who is the Ultimate Wounded Healer, knows the pain of despair. He knows what it feels like to lose hope. He knows abandonment. But He also knows how to heal those hurts. And it's to Him I point you all. It's Him that I praise, though sometimes my voice falls silent. But even in silence, hope and love are found.

Holy is the Lord, and most worthy of praise.