Guilty

As a result of my recent trend towards self-discovery, I have become aware an unfortunate aspect of this quirky personality of mine. I had a bad day not too long ago, and found myself in a rare mood of self-pity. As is the premise of this blog, I have a habit of overwhelming myself with pity and compassion on behalf of others, and this often distracts me from any self-pity I may feel. In the midst of this self-pity, which was of course affecting my mood, I felt acute guilt. I somehow felt that I shouldn't feel this pain on my own behalf, as if it was somehow wrong. In the days since, I have been processing this guilt, trying to figure out how to accurately describe its origin. At first, I took delight in blaming my guilt on the way I was perceived by those around me, as if they somehow saw me as rock-solid and impervious to pain. Eventually, though, I came to the painful conclusion that I was only half-right. The unpleasant truth is that it was I who perceived myself as rock-solid and impervious to pain. I have found no other name for this unfortunate quirk than self-righteous guilt – and that makes it sinful, not merely unfortunate.

Somehow, up until today, I have remained blissfully unaware of my self-righteousness. I guess that is the nature of the beast. Somehow throughout my history, I have become erroneously convinced in my subconscious that I am better at handling my own problems than others are, and that is why I am able to help them. That is not the case at all. 


The question here is not whether I am better at handling my issues than others are at handling theirs. The answer to that question, though it may be interesting, is entirely irrelevant. The problem here is that I am actually asking that question. All self-righteousness starts with comparison to other people. In 2 Corinthians, Paul writes, “But when they measure themselves by one another and compare themselves with one another, they are without understanding.” (2 Cor 10:12b) 


The reality of the matter is that these quirks of my personality that allow me to empathize and help others are gifts. The source of my power is not internal. I do not help others out of an excess of my own ability. I do not have compassion upon others out of an excess of my own love. I do not carry others' burdens out of an excess of my own strength. Rather, these things are extensions of the Holy Spirit living in me. It is God who gives me the ability, love, and strength required to act in a way that will glorify His name. Unfortunately, my subconscious has been using these assets to boost my own ego. 


Fortunately, God's power is made perfect in my weakness (2 Cor 12:9). When I have a bad day and resort to extraordinarily-human self-pity, my self-righteousness takes a hit. When I take on more burdens than my shoulders can carry and depression sets in, my human frailty becomes unavoidably evident. And when I realize that for all of my days, God will be available to carry all of my burdens and all of my adopted burdens and all of the burdens of all of His children, I realize how perfect His power truly is. 


So yes. It is ok for my frail shoulders to feel some pain now and then. In fact, it's recommended. 

Empathetic or Pathetic?

I began today with worry. It has been my constant companion since my alarm went off. The sun was hiding behind sheets of rain at the time, so I went back to bed for an hour.

As I have mentioned before, I take empathy to a whole new level. When worry sets in, I turn empathetic into pathetic. I am prone to letting the cares of this world affect my mood. I'd like to be able to say that I have a constant underlying joy despite any circumstance, but that is only true up to the point where I start to worry.

As my load becomes too heavy for my frail shoulders to bear, my spirit becomes exhausted. I begin to feel, deep in my soul, that I am way older than my chronological age. I become weary and worn, and crave nothing more than eternal rest at the feet of my Savior. Even as I write this, I yearn for the day when the Lord takes me home and this world I am visiting lies forever behind me. On days like this – days like today – I find that my prayers make a subtle shift from aid in this life to reprieve from it. In my emotional exhaustion, I forget that the “joy set before me” is not merely waiting for me on the other side, but is available to me now, though in a slightly less tangible form.

This worry-laden forgetfulness does not any longer resemble noble empathy. It is merely pathetic. There is nothing noble in carrying unnecessary burdens. The desire to do so is noble, but the uneducated pride that actually attempts it is not. These are not my burdens to carry. They are not my problems to fix. By attempting to carry or fix these stolen woes, I help no one and hurt myself. I am even in danger of damaging my testimony, because the gospel is not complete without joy.

Knowing the human propensity for worry and the weight of the cares of this world, Jesus tells us this: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke on you and learn from me, because I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and my load is not hard to carry.” (Mt 11:28-30, NET) This rest He speaks of is not only available after life on earth is over. Through the Holy Spirit, we can access His throne; through prayer and meditation, we can lay our burdens at His feet. He can help – we have only to ask.

This world is heavy. Our shoulders are weak. There are some burdens we must carry – but we don't have to bear them alone. There is never a need to allow the cares of this world to cast a shadow on the joy of being a child of the King. It will never be bad enough that He can't help you through. No load can possibly be that heavy.

Mother Nature

When I was in high school, a friend of mine thought it would be wise to share candidly what he thought was wrong with each of his friends. His opinion as a professional high schooler was obviously well-received. When my turn came, he told me: “Nora, you don't have to be everyone's mother.” At the time, I was mortally wounded. Me, acting like a mom? In high school, that is an insult of the most offensive nature.

Since then, I have discovered that this young mind had stumbled onto something that runs very deep in my personality: my mothering nature.

In high school, I was the go-to listening ear among my friends. I could tell when they needed me, so I would listen to their woes and then offer the little bit of insight I had. Everyone told me I should consider becoming a counselor, and my answer was always that I planned to graduate from counseling at the end of high school.

As an adult, my friendships took on qualities far more complex and less dramatic than those developed in high school. In response, my mothering nature matured. As I began to listen to the adult-sized woes of people I loved, my tender heart broke – and it broke frequently. I would offer what advice I could and listen when advice was superfluous. But all the while, not too far below my calmly compassionate surface, there was – and is – a bubbling turmoil of empathy.

At this point, I must make it clear that I am not writing this to laud my own achievements in the compassion department. I am aware of this aspect of my quirky personality, and while it may be on some lists of virtues, it causes me far more pain than is reasonable. My intention is not to form an inflated view of myself in which I appear to be the next Mother Teresa. As I have stated previously, the point of this blog is to explore methods to remove this weighty world from my flimsy shoulders.

I have been described as empathetic to a fault. I have somehow found a way to channel this instinctual nurturing emotion into something excruciating and unhealthy: anxiety. My emotional state progresses rather quickly from calm to turmoil. When I discover that someone I love is experiencing some kind of difficulty – ranging from a minor headache to a ruptured family – I am filled with sympathy and my heart aches in empathy. I then rapidly search through my mental file folders for possible cures or anesthetics. When one is found, I immediately suggest it to the injured party. Sometimes, my suggestion is gratefully accepted and the headache goes away within thirty or forty minutes. Other times, I can find no solution, and the unsolved problem plagues me indefinitely. Still other times, something far worse happens: my advice goes unheeded.

While my mothering nature was given to me by my Creator, the quirks related to it come straight from my very own mother. One of these quirks is that I do not respond well when my advice is not accepted. I have little patience for people who will complain about a problem and then take no steps to resolve it. So I do what mothers do best – I nag. This nagging is not well-received by a mother's own children, so it is definitely not well-received by people wholly unrelated to me, and I have almost lost friends this way.

When I finally realized that this diabolical need to nurture was causing some problems, I was at a loss for solutions. At my very core, I am a mom, even though I don't have any children of my own. This is how God made me. I am a nurturer; I cannot stop caring this deeply, and have no wish to try. I have since realized that it is not the caring that gets me into trouble, but how I act on it. There are so many different mistakes I make because I care so deeply that there is no way to fit them in this already absurdly-long post. (The next few posts will discuss each of these mistakes at length.)

For now, I will close with this consolation: “Is there anyone among you who, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you then, although you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!” (Mt 7:9-11, NET) No matter how deeply you love, God's love is deeper. No matter how confident you are in your ability to solve this problem, God is far more able. And no matter how anxious you are, God is in control.