I love words. Once I learned how to talk (so my mom says), I never stopped. I devoured words in books, and poured out my own in poems, short stories, and pen pal letters.
But numbers? They're not my thing so much. In fact, one of my earliest school-related memories was sitting at my desk, crying over my [very basic] math workbook. I couldn't have been more than seven.
Math has been the bane of my existence for as long as I can remember. Saxon textbooks still make me shudder.
Enter Algebra 2.
It was my senior year. I had a full load. As much as I'd always loathed math, I was, overall, still a pretty good student. With all the optimism and bright determination of a first week back to school, I ran headlong into lesson 1. It was all review. It felt...almost easy.
Maybe I'm finally getting this after all, I thought.
I checked my test in the answer key (hello, homeschooling). One, two, three, four, five, six, seven wrong...on a fifteen-question test.
A big, fat F.
I don't remember ever getting an F before - in anything. Still stunned, I went to tell my mom.
"Mom, I got an 'F' on my test."
"No, you didn't," she laughed, thinking I was joking.
"No, Mom, really, I got an 'F'."
"Nooo, Rach. You didn't get an 'F'."
"But I really did."
"You did?!"
This exchange subtly reinforced my faulty, performance-riddled worldview. Rachel doesn't fail. Rachel can't disappoint her parents, her friends, or the world. People depend on her. She must live up to their expectations, always.
So...I stupidly began to cheat.
Not because I was lazy, but because this time my best wasn't good enough, and "not good enough" wasn't an option to me. Failure wasn't an option.
I wish this folly had been contained to one school subject in one year of high school. But it wasn't. It was how I lived.
My life was a test and God was the test grader. A's were good. F's were bad. If I got an A, He was happy and smiled at me. Anything less than that, and He'd mark everything up with some cosmic red pen.
If I couldn't actually be perfect and have it all together - well, I could at least conjure up an image of it. And I'd slave endlessly for even an illusion of perfection.
A deep exhaustion from this graceless way of living began to seep into my soul.
The mask slipped. The illusion chipped around the edges. The realization began to dawn on me that, just maybe, somewhere, I'd missed the point.
My entire life, I'd wanted to be close to God. I'd thought this was how it worked.
I could no longer escape the truth staring me in the face: I would never be good enough, strong enough, have-it-all-together enough. And then more truth came - truth that had been right there all along.
I didn't choose you because you were good. I chose you because I am good.
I am pleased with you, not because of what you've done, but because of what My Son has done.
Saving is My job, and so is sanctifying.
I finished the work and there is nothing your own efforts can add to it.
I love you because you are My child, not because you are trying hard to make Me happy.
Nothing depends on you. I am the foundation for your hope, your salvation, your new life.
I checked my test in the answer key (hello, homeschooling). One, two, three, four, five, six, seven wrong...on a fifteen-question test.
A big, fat F.
I don't remember ever getting an F before - in anything. Still stunned, I went to tell my mom.
"Mom, I got an 'F' on my test."
"No, you didn't," she laughed, thinking I was joking.
"No, Mom, really, I got an 'F'."
"Nooo, Rach. You didn't get an 'F'."
"But I really did."
"You did?!"
This exchange subtly reinforced my faulty, performance-riddled worldview. Rachel doesn't fail. Rachel can't disappoint her parents, her friends, or the world. People depend on her. She must live up to their expectations, always.
So...I stupidly began to cheat.
Not because I was lazy, but because this time my best wasn't good enough, and "not good enough" wasn't an option to me. Failure wasn't an option.
I wish this folly had been contained to one school subject in one year of high school. But it wasn't. It was how I lived.
My life was a test and God was the test grader. A's were good. F's were bad. If I got an A, He was happy and smiled at me. Anything less than that, and He'd mark everything up with some cosmic red pen.
If I couldn't actually be perfect and have it all together - well, I could at least conjure up an image of it. And I'd slave endlessly for even an illusion of perfection.
A deep exhaustion from this graceless way of living began to seep into my soul.
The mask slipped. The illusion chipped around the edges. The realization began to dawn on me that, just maybe, somewhere, I'd missed the point.
My entire life, I'd wanted to be close to God. I'd thought this was how it worked.
I could no longer escape the truth staring me in the face: I would never be good enough, strong enough, have-it-all-together enough. And then more truth came - truth that had been right there all along.
I didn't choose you because you were good. I chose you because I am good.
I am pleased with you, not because of what you've done, but because of what My Son has done.
Saving is My job, and so is sanctifying.
I finished the work and there is nothing your own efforts can add to it.
I love you because you are My child, not because you are trying hard to make Me happy.
Nothing depends on you. I am the foundation for your hope, your salvation, your new life.
It took me a long time to understand that, and even longer before I was ready to accept it.
But in sweet, relentless, painful persistence, He chipped away at that old wall, and finally...
Grace flooded into a tired, thirsty life.
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