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Part 09

4/9/2009 7:14:22 PM

Journal Entry

I am so blessed by God.  I wasn’t going to add any more theological stuff to my project (for my doctorate)—I felt I didn’t have it in me to work anymore on it.  Then yesterday, as I began devotions, the power of God was at work in me, giving me thoughts and energy and a desire to do this once again.

When I have nothing left to give, God reminds me the source of my life and energy is him.  I changed one section and faxed it, and have one more I want to do.  This is important.  Maybe someday, when there is even more chaos and despair, someone will find my project in a dusty little corner and read it, and God will be at work and something new will be born.  I think I have something of value to give—a sense of hope amid all the constructs…our groundedness in the being of God.

God has blessed my work at ----.  He has made a blessing so I can see the fruit of what I do.  People open to hearing, to being changed—listening.  My teaching and preaching—but especially my teaching—God has made me able to be more fully present with people.

I sense God’s work in me to bring this about, and yet, it also requires something of me.  It is truly exhausting.  Oh, Karen, might this in and of itself be a good enough reason to practice self-care?  The power of God in me, upon me, at work—requires I take care of myself physically, spiritually—in every way, so I don’t limit God’s work.

That says something about how I eat, how I relax, how I exercise—is it life-giving or life-draining?

What we believe is important will determine our lives as pastors.  If we believe expertise is needed, or meeting approval/expectations, or living up to some standard of perfection, we will drive ourselves to achieve.

If we believe presence is needed, we will take care of ourselves and allow God to empower the presence.  That’s the only way it can ever happen anyway.

Journal Entry

It is now early evening.  How much I’ve seen today.  This transition stuff.  It really isn’t possible to speak in terms of people being fixed.  As Kegan says, maybe the time people are firmly ensconced in a balance (a way of understanding and relating to life) is fleeting.  For the most part, we are in transition.

And it occurs in steps, and the first step to a new seeing can occur years before the ah-ha!  And even when I think I’ve hit a learning, years down the road I learn it more.

I’m feeling—vulnerable, I think—right now.  Fragile.  I’ve seen today something in me I don’t like.  I realized driving down to ---- that I’ve been trying to be a perfect person again—a person who sees constructs for what they are and relates to the world in a whole new way, but the very concept of me trying to be perfect shows it’s not true.

When we reach this new place we realize no standards exist that aren’t constructs, so whenever I try to measure myself against anything, it’s a false measuring.  There is no standard to tell me I’m perfectly anything.  To have perfection as a goal is an illusion.

My needing to uphold this illusion of being perfect has led me to be rather hard on some people when they don’t automatically respond to what I say (I need validation to uphold the illusion of perfection).  I called a colleague today and apologized, because when I talked to her on Tuesday I could tell she sensed judgment from me.

She did indeed, and more.  She said she felt as though I thought I had the answers, and that she’s tired of being beaten down by people.  I felt truly convicted.  Fortunately, she listened and understood when I shared I was working through some stuff.  We had a good conversation.

If I have no standard against which to measure myself, how will I know if I’m doing okay?  Why is it so hard to accept just being—existence as an end in itself.  And if God is the source of that being, we really don’t have to prove anything at all.

My journals are my thoughts before they coalesce and become part of my construct.  If I lose these journals, I don’t lose me.

Journal Entry

I’m feeling—empty.  It’s interesting that the insight yesterday seemed to move me from defending my position to being more transitional.  Not that neatly, of course, but I really do feel I’m not working, that I’ve failed at life, and I can’t see how I’m ever going to be able to do what I feel called to do.

Not only ‘how’ from the perspective of having the opportunity, but how from the perspective of not being perfect.  This is amazing.  I had no clue this illusion of perfection was even part of my thinking.  I feel defeated—but not by others.  By my own limitations and worthlessness.

I can sit here and know that all of this is transitional stuff, and that helps, but it still feels awful.

I’m really identifying with my performance, and I have failed to perform perfectly.  I wonder if I’ll ever change.  Things I thought I knew…I fall into the same trap of needing recognition of my work.  I’m very angry at myself for this—this failing to be perfect.  I feel as though my imperfection closes doors.  I’m not enough.  Who would want Karen?  She’s flawed.

Well, as I said, the bright spot in all of this is that I am, in some way, transitional—I’m growing.  That’s what I hang onto when I’m going through these times.  I know new life will come.  I also know I’m not along in the journey.  Every other creature journeys with me.  We are all in this together.

It just hit me that if I’m not defined by, neither am I limited by.  So, if the church system doesn’t define me, neither does it limit me.  Maybe that’s the learning from what I feel about leaving the ministry.

Journal Entry

I got to the office and the secretary told me two people were in the office talking about pastors, probably because we’re going to be talking about what kind of pastor the church would like to call. (I wasn’t the pastor of this congregation; I was there to help them address issues.)  They were saying to her that the church is the boss of the pastor, because they pay the salary.  One person didn’t surprise me; the other did, because he’s shown an ability to see beyond his own little world.

I was depressed, thinking ‘I’ve got to get out of here.  Amazing.  One little comment and I feel defeated.  I guess if people don’t perfectly reflect my thinking, it means I’m not doing a good job teaching or there’s something wrong with them.

It’s interesting how quickly that feeling can come over a person.  I see it in others when they get upset by one comment and everything else is going well.  Now I see it in me.  Since life is full of those little comments, it’s important to deal with it.

I think it’s part of my transition because I was able to see how I felt I wasn’t working right.  I have no clue how me and the world fit together, etc.  I’ve been focusing a lot on what I’m not doing, and yet don’t have the energy to change.

Journal Entry

I remain very depressed, and even the thought of a new job or whatever, calls forth no response in me.  A sign of transition, and that it is me who isn’t working right.  It won’t be a change of circumstances that helps me, for I am the one who is empty.  The thought is that I simply must persevere—as Kegan says, transcend the bargain somehow.  It’s all I’ve got.

This has been a rather prolonged time of transition, and the things I’ve seen are major.  I guess I’m seeing in new ways, but there’s more to this particular part of the journey.  It still interests me that in seeing—in removing myself further from certain systems—it didn’t serve to end the journey, but marked a point in the transition from blaming the world to blaming myself…or a point where I stopped defending my way of thinking and became truly transitional.

I always thought those kinds of insights came at the end.  It was so noticeable this time, the shift in feeling.  I wonder if that was the case before and I just didn’t notice.

So—right now, I simply endure.  When I don’t feel like writing, or talking to God, etc., or anything, I know I’m going through the mist—only thicker; sometimes it’s hard to breathe.  But I’m truly lost, without direction, so I keep taking one small step at a time, trusting that the Lord journeys with me.

It feels like a standing still, because I’m just getting by, doing things by rote, sometimes not doing at all.  I want to see (understand) again, and I know at the right time I will.  That’s the promise of Easter.  There is new life and hope and love.

I guess the seeing that marked the shift in feeling—I guess that’s the loss of the old coherence, how the world and I fit together, with nothing to take its place.  That makes sense.  I’m grieving, I’m without an anchor or direction; I’m questioning or waiting to see that which gives me a sense of place.

As I write this, I got a whiff of a clean breeze—that timeless sense of peace that isn’t locked into any one system: a feeling of simply being.  So, it will come again.  It will.

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