corgis

It is likely common knowledge by now that I adore corgis.  I'm not sure when it happened, since I didn't even know that such a breed existed until I went to law school and a classmate from California (aka the land of corgis) happened to show me his favorite video on YouTube (i.e., the corgi flop).  But running into a corgi serendipitously inspires such a sudden yet profound joy within me (an emotion that is quite difficult to inspire otherwise) that I frequently tell people that such sightings feel like a secret signal from God that He loves me.

Throughout the month of January (and even a little bit into February), I felt like I had been seeing more corgis in the city than usual-- for such an Insta-popular breed of dog, it's rarer than one would think to find a floofy golden corgi waddling down the streets of Manhattan.  So, taking the premise that chance corgi encounters are like subtle reminders that God loves me, it would seem as though I had spent the last month feeling extra-loved.  Unfortunately for Him, that was not quite the case.

Something is off.  Something is broken.  The joy receptors inside of me feel dull and insensitive, and I am in the process of parsing through two very difficult feelings:

(1) These days, I do not feel as though God is (more than) enough for me.  And that is incredibly depressing because as I look into the next fifty years of my life (Lord willing), and I see what is ahead for me (again, Lord willing)-- advances in my career, marriage and raising a family, growth in ministry-- these otherwise very good things suddenly feel utterly empty and meaningless.  I am wary of what is ahead, and I fear (and almost preemptively feel now) an inevitable mental breakdown because all I see are ways to be poured out, and poured out, and poured out, with nothing coming back to me.  People to take me for granted, to toss me away when it's convenient for them or something better comes along, to ask that I meet them where they are instead of asking where I would like to be met, to demand my time and energy and affections . . . all these people who will capitalize on knowing how deeply I desire not to disappoint them or hurt them or desert them.  I feel ragged and wounded just imagining it.  And the only antidote to this crushing cynicism is for God to be (more than) enough for me-- to be so filled to the brim with His love that all of my pouring out will be virtually effortless and even a source of deep joy, because I am able to share in how He cares for others and become more like Jesus in the process.

So.

How long, O Lord?
How long will I feel like You are not enough for me?
How long will I persist in this despair that I will always be empty?
How long will I resist Your grace and treat You so unfairly?

Because in the meantime, I am still giving.
I am still giving my intellect and perseverance and most of my waking hours to work.
I am still giving my unconditional love and intentionality to ministry.
I am still trying, whether it seems like it or not, to be there for my loved ones, even as the gnawing feeling grows-- I have nothing left to give.  I have nothing to give to earn their attention and affection, and at some point, they will see how selfish and impatient and burdensome I really am.

Which brings me to--

(2) I still feel like I have to earn the love that I receive from others, and the realization that this impulse is so strong is also discouraging.

In other words: I have to be the most understanding, the most witty, the most lovely, the most attentive, the most wise, the most capable, the most obedient, the most available, the most agreeable, the most selfless version of myself in order for people to love me and appreciate me.  I'm not allowed to be needy, I'm not allowed to be weak, I'm not allowed to be sad, I'm not allowed to be exhausted, I'm not allowed to be broken because I can't afford to be unattractive.  (Not to mention, I have no right to be any of those things anyway because I come from a stable, fairly well-off family, I have a steady and generous job, I have no physical ailments, I always have food to eat and a warm bed to sleep in, and I have plenty of friends and colleagues who treat me with respect and care.  So the least I can do is be the best version of myself for others.)

Why can't I afford to be unattractive?
Because sometimes, many times, even when I am the best version of myself and I give the best parts of myself-- it's still not enough.
I am still abandoned, I am still betrayed, I am still mistreated, I am still misunderstood.
Ironically, I am told:
Because you're too good.  Because you're strong, and you're smart.  I don't need to worry about you.  You don't need me to succeed.  You don't need me to be happy.
But there was a time when I was told instead:
You're too emotional.  You're too sad and self-pitying.  You're too selfish.  You're too needy.
So.

Which is it?
Which is the version of me that is acceptable?
Which version of me won't be so easily disposed of?





- - - - -

God says I was loved while I was yet a sinner, while I did not know Him or acknowledge Him, while I cursed Him.  And I am still loved in these moments when I still fail to acknowledge Him and when I still grieve the Holy Spirit by entertaining lies and spouting off more lies-- there is no "acceptable" or "unacceptable" but just the fact that I am accepted as His daughter.

He reminds me that even when my heart condemns me-- because of my unbelief, because of my overall sinful nature-- He is greater than my heart (1 John 3:20).

And that is why, despite it all, He continues to shower me with favor in the workplace, He continues to gives me the strength and grace to pray for others (and somehow even bless them), He continues to put love in my heart for those who have deeply wounded me . . . and He continues to send me the occasional corgi sightings.

(I'm sure I will eventually bounce back.
But for now, I admit that I am hurting, I am troubled, I am waiting.)