Self Doubt

Decided today that it was time to start reading something new.  In a nod to my up-coming summer backpacking adventures, I opted to read a book I'd bought from a thrift store forever and a day ago and never opened: Max Lucado's Travelling Light.  Essentially, the book uses 18 chapters to extrapolate the meaning of Psalm 23, specifically focusing on trusting God enough to leave various forms of spiritual and emotional baggage behind.  Generally speaking, I frown on books that insist on analyzing a small piece of writing to death, and I may yet develop a very deeply furrowed brow by the time I finish this book, but in the meantime I found a quotation worth quotationing:

"Let's evaluate this.  You can't control your moods.  A few of your relationships are shakey.  You have fears and faults.  Hmmm.  Do you really want to hang on to your chest of self-reliance?  Sounds to me as if you could use a shepherd.  Otherwise, you might end up with a Twenty-third psalm like this:
'I am my own shepherd.  I am always in need.
I stumble from mall to mall and shrink to shrink, seeking relief but never finding it.
I creep through the valley of the shadow of death and fall apart.
I fear everything from pesticides to powerlines, and I'm starting to act like my mother.
I go down to the weekly staff meeting and am surrounded by enemies.
I go home, and even my goldfish scowls at me.
I anoint my headache with extra-strength Tylenol.
My Jack Daniel's runneth over.
Surely misery and misfortune will follow me, 
and I will live in self-doubt for the rest of my lonely life.'"
-pp.24-25.

When I finished snickering at the phrase, "My Jack Daniel's runneth over," I came to reflect that the latter statement, "and I will live in self-doubt for the rest of my lonely life" did in fact strike a chord with me.  A few years ago I took a narrative psychology class and ended up having to interview myself for my final project.  Among other difficult questions, I asked myself what my greatest fears for my future self were.  My answer was that (1) I wouldn't ever go on to become a psychologist, that I wouldn't have the courage to finish what I started; and (2) that I would become an old maid, effectively living out the role of Katherine Heigl in 27 Dresses. 
Thankfully, God has rescued me from the latter dread; however...Self-doubt...it plagues me.  I know I should be working on re-applying for grad studies, but I keep avoiding it.  Dan recently called me on my procrastination when we went out for a late night snack together. I confessed that the biggest hurdle for me is a fear of what other people think of me.  I'm so desperate to be found smart and interesting and promising that I can't make up my mind about what a "good-sounding" thesis proposal would be and therefore keep avoiding the most crucial part of grad study application: contacting the professors involved.  It's not the first time I've found myself in this sort of pitifully wimpy position.  My undergrad supervising professor rejected my first undergrad thesis proposal.  Not because it wasn't any good, but because she knew it wasn't mine.  I was trying so hard to make my thesis look like her own research that I had lost my own ideas and interests.  She made me start over from scratch. 
Now I need the do the same thing, and the thought makes me so tired.  And certainly a large part of that comes from trying too hard to rely on myself to be perfect and self-sufficient, rather than allowing and trusting God to make the way for me that He chooses. 
Saying that aloud feels like deja vu.  That's rather discouraging.  I don't want to learn the same lessons over and over again.  "Layers: onions have layers; ogres have layers" (Shrek in Shrek).  Oh shut up and stop quoting my own encouragements to other people back at me, God.  Did I just tell God to shut up?  Hmmm.  Apparently I actually do need to read Max Lucado's book about the importance of letting go of self-reliance/rebellion from God...

Mother Dear

Dear Mom,
I told myself that this year I would not mope on Mother's Day; that I would instead find ways to appreciate other mothers around me and celebrate their existance.  I represented the family at the MAMA ceremony (thank you God that you gave me something humourous to say so I didn't put us all to shame with an ironically dull speech about our creative and funny mother).  I sent Mother's Day cards out to Val, Sherry, Sindy Jeske, Grandma Archer, Grandma Wilson, and Debbie (Dan's mom).  I took in 4 months' worth of fermented crab apple-encrusted bottle recycling to contribute money towards the car seat fund our church is unofficially starting. I baked gluten-free brownies for Sherry and Debbie with Jordan (not that either Sherry or Debbie is gluten intolerant, but whatever).  Dan and I spent hours together choosing songs to burn onto a c-d for his mom to enjoy with her new cochlear implant.  Working on the c-d cover art took me hours, but it was fun to do something artsy again.  And Dan burned me a copy of the c-d, too, because it's awesome (and so is he). 
All in all, I was doing pretty good with my positivity goals until Melanie came to visit a couple days before Mother's Day.  Mel felt pretty down about the looming date.  The moment she voiced the words, "Faye, I really miss mom," I felt grief quietly smack me again.  Then at church on Mother's Day people kept coming over to see me and tell me they knew it must be a hard day for me, and they loved my mom, and they missed their own moms, too.  It's strange how sometimes the empathy of others can allow you to feel more sadness than you would have on your own. 
Nevertheless, it turned out to be a pretty good day.  Immediately after the church service I mostly slept through, Dan and I went over to his parents' house and the afternoon ended up cruising by as I sat in the easy-going and chatty company of Debbie and Dan's aunt Elke.  Mel texted me to say that she'd found one of your old journals and I should read it sometime.  So on our way home from Dan's parents' house, we stopped at my dad's house to see if Melanie was home and thus if I could borrow the newly found journal.  The answer to both was yes, so we stayed and chatted with Melanie for a while, then I took the journal and we went home.
I didn't have the courage to read the journal until tonight.  As Melanie told me, in this journal, like most of your journals, you didn't use much of the book before you either lost it or ran out of time/motivation to write in it.  Your writings are sporadic, and mainly focus on prayers for people you know, or recording family events.  I think this was my favourite page:
"Monday August 4, 1997
Took all of the morning and a good part of the afternoon to load the trailer.  Made quick stops at Sunridge Mall and Mike and Shelley's (needed to drop off Mike's sander).  At the latter, while chatting with Shelley, Chasey came running that Adam was getting bitten by ants.  We could hear him screaming and he was almost completely covered in them.  But we think the screams were from Ben trying to wack them off of him with a hockey stick.
Poor Adam."
I have absolutely no memory of that event, but I laughed until I cried. 
I love you, Mom.
See you later,
Faye.

P.S. Thank you for being the kind of mom who used her relaxation time around the summer camp fire to darn my socks.