Recently I enjoyed the pleasure of re-reading the first two books of C. S. Lewis' space trilogy (some of my favorite writing ever, hands down). A passage early on in the first book, Out of the Silent Planet, stands out to me each time I read the book, probably because anything related to change strikes a chord with me - I've always struggled with changes. They just don't come easily to me.
Maybe you are a thinker and worrier, like me. You can understand the intricate thought-circles that go on in the mind whenever a change, no matter how small, is anticipated. You question possible outcomes. You wonder if you will feel overwhelmed emotionally or be too weary to handle everything. You don't want the way things are now to end.
Lewis' main character, Elwin Ransom, encounters a mind-bogglingly big change in the first part of Out of the Silent Planet: He travels unexpectedly and against his own will to a new planet. When he realizes where he is headed, he is understandably afraid (he's also led to believe there are malicious beings on the planet). However, when he finally views the planet for the first time, his mindset radically shifts: "Before anything else he learn[s] that Malacandra is beautiful."
Ransom had expected a harsh, alien landscape, and when he is surprised by the beauty of the planet, he analyzes his own surprise: "he even reflect[s] how odd it was that this possibility had never entered into his speculations about it." Ransom questions his own thinking and cannot come up with a reason why he should have thought the planet would be ugly or frightening instead of beautiful.
The expectation that a new experience will necessarily be negative or scary comes mostly from apprehension of the unknown. I know what my current circumstances are like, and so I feel a certain sense of order and control over them. When all I can see in front of me is a blank, I don't know what will happen, and so I expect the worst. Why should I think like this? Why shouldn't a change bring positive and good things into my life just as easily as challenges or hardships? Indeed, why wouldn't challenges in themselves become good things if I handle them through trust in a God who loves me?
A new situation in my life, such as bringing a new baby into the family or moving to a new city, may turn out to look beautiful or it may turn out to look like "rocky desolation" (Lewis), but either way, my anticipation of it need not be fear-filled. I might as equally well expect joy as depression, pleasure as sorrow, and smoothness as roughness. In reality, I've experienced that most changes bring a mixture of all types of emotions, challenges, and fun. In any case, when the sovereign God of the universe is the one bringing me through it, I can pass with an inner peace from the "now" into the "then" - He's going to make each chapter of this life beautiful in the end, anyway.
Showing posts with label insecurities. Show all posts
Showing posts with label insecurities. Show all posts
Oct 27, 2017
Sep 26, 2017
Homemade Mistakes
The other day I was able to finish sewing my toddler a new dress. I've made a dress using the same pattern before, so the process was not completely new to me, but I'm still no expert seamstress. While I was able to sew comfortably without making as many mistakes as the first attempt (during which I had to rip out many seams and start over many times, as well as contact customer service for the pattern I bought to ask a question about how to do one of the steps), I still could not execute the project as cleanly as I would have liked.
When sewing the slightly puffed sleeves onto the dress bodice (one of the most finicky parts of the dress, along with the dreaded placket), I could not get through without puckering parts of the bodice on the front of the dress. I had to cut out one part and start over, but then the same thing happened again anyway, and then again with the second sleeve. Frustrated, I held up the dress to my face to examine my error and sighed. Should I cut the threads and start again, probably with the same result?
In a moment, I decided to leave the mistakes as they were and abandon my impulse to make the dress look "perfect." The dress is homemade, after all, I told myself. It has more character with a bit of mess-up in it. And who's going to notice these small puckers once the entire dress is complete and my goofy, friendly, sweet daughter is inside it?
Homemade life, by which I mean real life (not magazine or Instagram or Facebook life) has flaws. As much as I want to be in control, organized, and on top of things at all times, I'm human. This lesson seems to return to me over and over: I will make mistakes, it's fine to make mistakes, and mistakes can even be good as they teach me important things. Making mistakes shows me and the people around me that I'm a person just like everyone else; mistakes invite openness and trust. Can people be comfortable with someone whose life is essentially a Real Simple photograph?
Furthermore, as my mom always told me (and as experience has shown to be true), people aren't looking that closely at me; they are too busy worrying about themselves! If someone is getting close enough to see a tiny pucker in my life, I am probably returning the favor and we are having a constructive chat about our problems. If that person is secretly judging me in private, then it's not my problem at all.
However, if someone does look at my life, flaws and all, I hope the sweetness of the heart of Jesus can overpower any impression of my personal faults. I'm not perfect, nor can I be in this lifetime, but Jesus told His disciples to "be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect" (Matthew 5:48). The perfection of God's intentions, desires, mindset, and plans should be visible through my own motives, mindset, and actions, even though I mess up. The puckers and ripped seams are mine; the finished beautiful garment, which will in the end be perfected (Romans 8:22-30), is God's.
When sewing the slightly puffed sleeves onto the dress bodice (one of the most finicky parts of the dress, along with the dreaded placket), I could not get through without puckering parts of the bodice on the front of the dress. I had to cut out one part and start over, but then the same thing happened again anyway, and then again with the second sleeve. Frustrated, I held up the dress to my face to examine my error and sighed. Should I cut the threads and start again, probably with the same result?
 |
| pucker one |
 |
| pucker two |
 |
| before hemming |
Homemade life, by which I mean real life (not magazine or Instagram or Facebook life) has flaws. As much as I want to be in control, organized, and on top of things at all times, I'm human. This lesson seems to return to me over and over: I will make mistakes, it's fine to make mistakes, and mistakes can even be good as they teach me important things. Making mistakes shows me and the people around me that I'm a person just like everyone else; mistakes invite openness and trust. Can people be comfortable with someone whose life is essentially a Real Simple photograph?
Furthermore, as my mom always told me (and as experience has shown to be true), people aren't looking that closely at me; they are too busy worrying about themselves! If someone is getting close enough to see a tiny pucker in my life, I am probably returning the favor and we are having a constructive chat about our problems. If that person is secretly judging me in private, then it's not my problem at all.
However, if someone does look at my life, flaws and all, I hope the sweetness of the heart of Jesus can overpower any impression of my personal faults. I'm not perfect, nor can I be in this lifetime, but Jesus told His disciples to "be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect" (Matthew 5:48). The perfection of God's intentions, desires, mindset, and plans should be visible through my own motives, mindset, and actions, even though I mess up. The puckers and ripped seams are mine; the finished beautiful garment, which will in the end be perfected (Romans 8:22-30), is God's.
Aug 25, 2017
The Former Student
Recognition swept across both of their faces as Callie stepped out of the elevator at the floor of her office and almost walked into the person standing there. Both simultaneously said, "Hey, how are you?" Then the older woman waiting to get on the elevator asked, "Did you teach this summer?"
"No, I didn't; it was a nice break," Callie answered with nods of emphasis.
"I know - I came to see you, but you weren't there - I figured you weren't teaching. Hey, what did you think of my 'Goodman Brown' paper?" Jane, confident, without fishing for a compliment, asked in her pleasantly loud voice.
"I thought it was good, really insightful, in-depth," Callie answered truthfully, though caught off-guard by the question, and having had a solid three months of break, having moved to a new city, and having planned for a new semester all since reading that final research paper.
"Oh, thank you! I just knew it was good. Thank you, Ms. Trindle!" Jane poured out the words with genuine delight, though her countenance displayed a sense of self-assurance and a knowledge that she was fine with our without this bit of affirmation. "Your class was my favorite class of all time, so far in my school," she added.
"Well, good; I'm glad you enjoyed it," Callie said, still taken a little aback.
"You're an awesome teacher," Jane continued, but with an air of ending the brief encounter so both ladies could move on with their schedules.
Callie, laughing, not sure how to respond, but wanting to do so graciously, said, "Thanks - you were an awesome student!" She really meant it, too, although that language, borrowed from Jane's remark, would not have been her own choice, she being such a deliberate and subdued teacher. Relating to students on a personal level had always both excited and puzzled her: how casual could she be? Could she let her guard down, or didn't she have to maintain that invisible boundary, for authority's sake? She was so young, after all, for a college teacher (in her mind, anyway): twenty-six, and just recently married, with no kids to add any of that almost intangible "mom-gravity" to her person, that gravitas that some teachers seemed to have, maybe since they were used to taking no nonsense from their own little 'students' at home. Callie did not reflect on all of these thoughts often, but her general picture of herself was definitely tinged with the drab colors of small, pervasive doubts and cautions.
The carpet and walls looked sharper as she walked back to her office after this conversation with her former student. Half-closed blinds and some buildings outside obstructed the view through the window at the end of the hallway, so that as she walked towards it, Callie could only see a small patch of what happened to be a bright blue sky.
"No, I didn't; it was a nice break," Callie answered with nods of emphasis.
"I know - I came to see you, but you weren't there - I figured you weren't teaching. Hey, what did you think of my 'Goodman Brown' paper?" Jane, confident, without fishing for a compliment, asked in her pleasantly loud voice.
"I thought it was good, really insightful, in-depth," Callie answered truthfully, though caught off-guard by the question, and having had a solid three months of break, having moved to a new city, and having planned for a new semester all since reading that final research paper.
"Oh, thank you! I just knew it was good. Thank you, Ms. Trindle!" Jane poured out the words with genuine delight, though her countenance displayed a sense of self-assurance and a knowledge that she was fine with our without this bit of affirmation. "Your class was my favorite class of all time, so far in my school," she added.
"Well, good; I'm glad you enjoyed it," Callie said, still taken a little aback.
"You're an awesome teacher," Jane continued, but with an air of ending the brief encounter so both ladies could move on with their schedules.
Callie, laughing, not sure how to respond, but wanting to do so graciously, said, "Thanks - you were an awesome student!" She really meant it, too, although that language, borrowed from Jane's remark, would not have been her own choice, she being such a deliberate and subdued teacher. Relating to students on a personal level had always both excited and puzzled her: how casual could she be? Could she let her guard down, or didn't she have to maintain that invisible boundary, for authority's sake? She was so young, after all, for a college teacher (in her mind, anyway): twenty-six, and just recently married, with no kids to add any of that almost intangible "mom-gravity" to her person, that gravitas that some teachers seemed to have, maybe since they were used to taking no nonsense from their own little 'students' at home. Callie did not reflect on all of these thoughts often, but her general picture of herself was definitely tinged with the drab colors of small, pervasive doubts and cautions.
The carpet and walls looked sharper as she walked back to her office after this conversation with her former student. Half-closed blinds and some buildings outside obstructed the view through the window at the end of the hallway, so that as she walked towards it, Callie could only see a small patch of what happened to be a bright blue sky.
May 6, 2017
Emptiness of a Clean Manger
Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean, but abundant crops come by the strength of the ox. - Proverbs 14:4I like to be tidy and organized. I wish my house were cleaner than it ever is (having a toddler running about making messes defeats my efforts most of the time). I desire orderly days and routines I can count on.
Change? No, thank you. Spontaneity? Only if it's planned.
Whenever there's a trip looming in my future, even just a short drive up to visit my family in a nearby town, I tend to feel stressed. The routines I have established at home will not be there and I am not exactly confident in what I can expect, so I worry. I'm currently in the midst of a travel-intense season, and each trip is for a wonderful purpose (visiting family and relaxing vacation), but I am a tightly-wound stress ball. I know our routines related to meals and bedtime and sleep will be disrupted, and I know emotional strain and tiredness will ensue, and I know there will be messy challenges. Long car drives with four small children (my daughter and three nieces) are hard, and airports are hard. No matter the approach, I know these trips will take lots of flexibility on my part.
In the first half of the proverb about the oxen, I get the sense that the writer is being ironic. How can one have a manger with no oxen? If one has no oxen, then what is the manger for? Of course one must need oxen if one has a manger or one wouldn't have built the manger in the first place. It's an odd image, an empty manger. But the manger is clean. Isn't that appealing? Also, with no oxen, one doesn't have the expense of feeding and caring for the oxen. That sounds easy.
But, as the writer states, how else can a farmer sow and reap an abundant harvest except through the help of the strong ox? The farmer desires an abundant crop, so he puts up with cleaning the messy manger. The benefits of having the oxen outweigh the challenges.
Similarly, if I desire an abundant life, I must deal with the inconveniences that come along with children, a spouse, family, friends, travels, cooking, etc. Relationships are messy, but they are worthwhile. Building a home focused more on flourishing lives than on sparkling cleanliness is frustrating at times, but can influence my family and friends for the better. Travels for the sake of spending time with faraway family and vacations that allow reconnecting with my spouse are challenging endeavors, but they also provide abundance: deep conversations, games, laughter, shared meals, new experiences, future memories, rest.
I could stay home, furiously maintain an organized, spotless house, and never change the routine, keeping the manger empty and clean. However, I would be robbing myself of the abundant life that I can have if I let in that ox, enjoy the feast from the bountiful harvest, and, with a grateful attitude, clean up his poo, perhaps with a grimace on my face.
Feb 25, 2017
Hold Her Hand
The Texas mountain laurels are blooming right now. Full-grown, they are gorgeous trees covered with purple blossoms that make all the air smell like grape sweet tarts. Wouldn't you want to be so beautiful if you were a tree?
A few weeks ago, I held my daughter's hand as she took tenuous steps along the rock border of our small raised garden bed. Seeing her watch her feet and carefully step so slowly reminded me of something that happened to me about seven years ago, when I was in grad school and feeling extremely unsure of myself as a person. During the Christmas break I visited my mom and dad and went to their church for the Christmas Eve service. There in the peaceful sanctuary, when it was time for Communion, we had a silent, individual prayer time. My prayer went something like:
God, I know I need to be more like the woman who twirls around in big, flowing skirts at the top of bright green hills with blue skies all around her, her face shining as she looks up and laughs at the clouds. She's so exuberant and full of life. I need to be like that, and I'm not. I don't trust You enough. I'm so anxious all the time.
Suddenly, in the midst of my insecure ramblings, a vivid picture came into my mind. It was a picture of a small girl wearing dark-colored clothes that fit her well but were not flowing skirts. The girl was walking along a pathway that wasn't lit very well, and the whole background was fairly dark, too. The girl was holding a hand, though. She was taking steps slowly while holding a hand whose owner was not visible. God reassured me with this vivid picture by telling me that, though I was going slowly and might not have an outgoing, exuberant personality, I was trusting Him and walking faithfully as the woman He made me to be. That careful woman was just as beautiful as the spinning woman on the hill.
When my daughter walked along the garden border taking slow, careful steps, she was trusting me to catch her and to guide her in this new adventure she'd just discovered. She was being completely herself and completely lovely in doing so. If she'd been running along recklessly, I'd have been a bit frustrated, and she probably would have hurt herself.
Some people are quick to settle in, establish "roots," find their niches, make friends, and adjust to new roles. Some are slower. The Texas mountain laurel is notorious for being a slow-growing tree that may not bloom for several years after being planted. We have one in our yard that we planted almost right away when we first moved to our new house in our new city. It's been a year now, and there has barely been any new visible growth at all, and certainly no blooming. My husband told me just the other day, when I was feeling a bit down regarding my ability to feel settled in my life as a new mom in a new place, that I was like the mountain laurel, slow to become established, but with potential for beautiful blossoms after a time.
Looking closely at our little slow-growing tree, I can see some brighter green new leaves at the ends of some of the darker green branches that have been there for a while. When I look closely at my life, I can see improvements and growth - perhaps small, but there nonetheless. Praise God, who always holds my hand, for causing all kinds of growth, whether fast or slow, big or small, joyous in purple blooms or deliberate in tender stems and leaves!
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| photo courtesy of Matt Kolodzie |
God, I know I need to be more like the woman who twirls around in big, flowing skirts at the top of bright green hills with blue skies all around her, her face shining as she looks up and laughs at the clouds. She's so exuberant and full of life. I need to be like that, and I'm not. I don't trust You enough. I'm so anxious all the time.
Suddenly, in the midst of my insecure ramblings, a vivid picture came into my mind. It was a picture of a small girl wearing dark-colored clothes that fit her well but were not flowing skirts. The girl was walking along a pathway that wasn't lit very well, and the whole background was fairly dark, too. The girl was holding a hand, though. She was taking steps slowly while holding a hand whose owner was not visible. God reassured me with this vivid picture by telling me that, though I was going slowly and might not have an outgoing, exuberant personality, I was trusting Him and walking faithfully as the woman He made me to be. That careful woman was just as beautiful as the spinning woman on the hill.
When my daughter walked along the garden border taking slow, careful steps, she was trusting me to catch her and to guide her in this new adventure she'd just discovered. She was being completely herself and completely lovely in doing so. If she'd been running along recklessly, I'd have been a bit frustrated, and she probably would have hurt herself.
Some people are quick to settle in, establish "roots," find their niches, make friends, and adjust to new roles. Some are slower. The Texas mountain laurel is notorious for being a slow-growing tree that may not bloom for several years after being planted. We have one in our yard that we planted almost right away when we first moved to our new house in our new city. It's been a year now, and there has barely been any new visible growth at all, and certainly no blooming. My husband told me just the other day, when I was feeling a bit down regarding my ability to feel settled in my life as a new mom in a new place, that I was like the mountain laurel, slow to become established, but with potential for beautiful blossoms after a time.
Looking closely at our little slow-growing tree, I can see some brighter green new leaves at the ends of some of the darker green branches that have been there for a while. When I look closely at my life, I can see improvements and growth - perhaps small, but there nonetheless. Praise God, who always holds my hand, for causing all kinds of growth, whether fast or slow, big or small, joyous in purple blooms or deliberate in tender stems and leaves!
 |
| our small mountain laurel |
Sep 29, 2015
An Answer to Prayer in a Surprising Package
Can a super fussy baby be an answer to prayer? Why, yes!
I would never have thought so before about two weeks ago. But around that time I was voicing some stresses to God and family regarding how I spend time with my daughter, and, relatively quickly, she started behaving more demandingly than she ever had up until that point (granted, she's only about three months old, and I'm sure I'm still experiencing just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to dealing with demanding children).
My stresses had been these: What do I do with this baby? What if what I'm doing at this moment isn't the best thing for her? Should she play with her dangling toys or do some tummy time? Should I carry her around or set her down? Is the baby-wearing wrap the answer to everything or does she hate it? What if she's not developing as well as she could be? Should I play some classical music for her? What if I want to listen to some of my favorite alternative rock? Will it ruin her brain cells? Should I read her a book? Which one?
As you can imagine, my thoughts were exhausting. You're probably also thinking I'm neurotic. Well, you might be right. But let's not delve into that! Let's just say I'm highly perfectionist and sensitive to what I perceive to be potential threats (including guilt over making mistakes). I'm working on this.
Then God sent me a wonderful gift, misleadingly wrapped in just the checkout line's plastic bag, not pretty paper and ribbons. I didn't have high expectations when I first saw this package, but after opening and experiencing it, I came to appreciate its beauty.
My little girl started crying more often during the day. I hadn't changed anything for her (except all of her wet diapers), and I didn't think she was in pain or anything, but surely enough, she wasn't content. I quickly learned through desperation's trial and error the few things I could do to get her calm. Suddenly my options were limited.
Then it hit me: whatever I'm doing that's helping her not cry is the right thing to do. If she's not unhappy, then she's fine, and I should stop freaking out. I'm sure other parents have known this all along and may be laughing at me a little bit; that's okay. I'm just thankful for God's surprising answer to my prayer. He sends good gifts, and sometimes He has a sense of humor while He's at it.
I would never have thought so before about two weeks ago. But around that time I was voicing some stresses to God and family regarding how I spend time with my daughter, and, relatively quickly, she started behaving more demandingly than she ever had up until that point (granted, she's only about three months old, and I'm sure I'm still experiencing just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to dealing with demanding children).
My stresses had been these: What do I do with this baby? What if what I'm doing at this moment isn't the best thing for her? Should she play with her dangling toys or do some tummy time? Should I carry her around or set her down? Is the baby-wearing wrap the answer to everything or does she hate it? What if she's not developing as well as she could be? Should I play some classical music for her? What if I want to listen to some of my favorite alternative rock? Will it ruin her brain cells? Should I read her a book? Which one?
As you can imagine, my thoughts were exhausting. You're probably also thinking I'm neurotic. Well, you might be right. But let's not delve into that! Let's just say I'm highly perfectionist and sensitive to what I perceive to be potential threats (including guilt over making mistakes). I'm working on this.
Then God sent me a wonderful gift, misleadingly wrapped in just the checkout line's plastic bag, not pretty paper and ribbons. I didn't have high expectations when I first saw this package, but after opening and experiencing it, I came to appreciate its beauty.
My little girl started crying more often during the day. I hadn't changed anything for her (except all of her wet diapers), and I didn't think she was in pain or anything, but surely enough, she wasn't content. I quickly learned through desperation's trial and error the few things I could do to get her calm. Suddenly my options were limited.
Then it hit me: whatever I'm doing that's helping her not cry is the right thing to do. If she's not unhappy, then she's fine, and I should stop freaking out. I'm sure other parents have known this all along and may be laughing at me a little bit; that's okay. I'm just thankful for God's surprising answer to my prayer. He sends good gifts, and sometimes He has a sense of humor while He's at it.
Feb 15, 2015
Mirrors
I want to return again to A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L'Engle one last time before I shelve the book for a while. An idea she explores that has stuck with me is the idea of mirrors and how they help us see ourselves. Of course, as she writes, "[t]he bathroom mirror tells us a certain amount about our outside selves." But in the same way that a mirror reflects us to ourselves so we can see what's going on with our hair or clothes or makeup, we find figurative mirrors, people in our lives, that can help us understand who we are. L'Engle puts it this way:
Struggles with feeling incompetent, inadequate, too reserved, too timid, and too lacking in confidence have often plagued me. I have felt these struggles with regard to school and work and relationships. But these struggles, I've noticed, are frequently based on a vague image I have in my head of what the ideal woman is supposed to be like. Since I don't measure up to the imaginary ideal, I am somehow a failure. No one else is even telling me these things; I'm just making them up! How ridiculous, I might say to myself. Nevertheless, there that image is, in my head. However unsubstantiated and underdeveloped this image may be, it's difficult to shake.
What's the answer? Well, as L'Engle suggests, choose mirrors carefully. I find that, like L'Engle, I can often get a truer picture of myself from my closest companions whom I trust than I can from my own prejudiced viewpoint. My sister, who is mysteriously capable of reading me like a book, can tell me when I'm truly off base and behaving poorly, or encourage me when I mistakenly feel down about myself. But, more importantly, the ultimate mirror I should look into for a true self-understanding is the One who knows me most intimately, the One who created me and has adopted me as His daughter, the One who loves me without fail or change.
For this reason, I cherish Psalm 139. I can declare with the psalmist that God is "intimately acquainted with all my ways" (verse 3). Therefore, I can also ask God to "search me . . . and know my heart; / Try me and know my anxious thoughts; / And see if there be any hurtful way in me, / And lead me in the everlasting way" (23-24). Much like a good accountability partner (a trustworthy mirror), except, unlike a fallible human, able to see the depths of my heart without any confusion, God can understand my deepest motives, know and relieve me of anxieties, convict me of any sin, and guide me in the truth.
I don't know what I'm like. I get glimpses of myself in other people's eyes. I try to be careful whom I use as a mirror: my husband; my children; my mother; the friends of my right hand. If I do something which disappoints them I can easily read it in their response. They mirror their pleasure or approval, too.I think L'Engle is right: we have, whether consciously or not, "mirrors" in the people around us, especially those to whom we're closest. However, there is danger here. L'Engle goes on to say that "we aren't always careful of our mirrors." How true! I realized as I read that passage that many of my struggles with anxiety stem from looking into the wrong mirrors to understand myself. L'Engle describes comparing herself to the picture of a perfect housewife and mother that other women around her apparently held, and feeling like a failure as a result. For me, the false mirror is often not even rooted in another person's expectations, but rather in my own false expectations for myself.
Struggles with feeling incompetent, inadequate, too reserved, too timid, and too lacking in confidence have often plagued me. I have felt these struggles with regard to school and work and relationships. But these struggles, I've noticed, are frequently based on a vague image I have in my head of what the ideal woman is supposed to be like. Since I don't measure up to the imaginary ideal, I am somehow a failure. No one else is even telling me these things; I'm just making them up! How ridiculous, I might say to myself. Nevertheless, there that image is, in my head. However unsubstantiated and underdeveloped this image may be, it's difficult to shake.
What's the answer? Well, as L'Engle suggests, choose mirrors carefully. I find that, like L'Engle, I can often get a truer picture of myself from my closest companions whom I trust than I can from my own prejudiced viewpoint. My sister, who is mysteriously capable of reading me like a book, can tell me when I'm truly off base and behaving poorly, or encourage me when I mistakenly feel down about myself. But, more importantly, the ultimate mirror I should look into for a true self-understanding is the One who knows me most intimately, the One who created me and has adopted me as His daughter, the One who loves me without fail or change.
For this reason, I cherish Psalm 139. I can declare with the psalmist that God is "intimately acquainted with all my ways" (verse 3). Therefore, I can also ask God to "search me . . . and know my heart; / Try me and know my anxious thoughts; / And see if there be any hurtful way in me, / And lead me in the everlasting way" (23-24). Much like a good accountability partner (a trustworthy mirror), except, unlike a fallible human, able to see the depths of my heart without any confusion, God can understand my deepest motives, know and relieve me of anxieties, convict me of any sin, and guide me in the truth.
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