adequate and accepted.

I’m a pusher.  If it’s not good enough, I’ll push you to make it better.  I’m a prover.  If you’re not convinced, I’ll prove it to you that it is good enough.  Eager to please, eager to jump.  Driven to excellence, minimal failure rate, A-pluses.  I’m one of those girls who leave little room to cry; I”ll repair it myself.  My boyfriend laughs when he tells me that I’m an overachiever; I don’t deny it.  It’s in my blood.

But then I get tired.  Tired of doing 110%, tired of running ahead so much that I’m running alone.  Enough is never enough, best is never the best… and then I crash: why isn’t everyone else trying as hard?  They’re just lazy, they’re just apathetic – they don’t care, because they’re not trying as hard.  Look how hard I’m trying, and I’m still not getting anywhere near where I want to be.  I don’t have what it takes to get there; therefore, I’ve messed it up.  I’ve just given you another reason why I’m not. worth. it.

Sound familiar?

And then I start getting mean.  I avoid the people who love me the most – they must be nuts for wanting to hang out with me (read: FAILURE).  I snap at the people who care about me the most – they don’t know how much I’ve (read: SCREW-UP) botched it up again.  I get angry with them, because I haven’t given them a reason to be so nice to me.  They don’t see that I’m trying to save them, relieve them, of a massive load of junk (read: ME) – the same junk that I try so hard to erase every day by proving that I am good enough.

But it’s not so much the people who love me that I have a problem with; it’s not so much their kindness that I have a problem with.  It’s the whole entire concept of grace that I have a problem with – God’s grace – the kind that is poured out and exploded all over me regardless of how much I think I don’t deserve it.  It’s the kind of grace that I can’t justify on my own terms: not with an A-plus, not with a scholarship; not with someone else’s opinion, and not with a perfect body.  This kind of grace is just there.  Always.  Forever.  Unlimited.

If life handed you lemons, I got a couple that were just rotten.  The message of my childhood seemed to be “you-are-never-going-to-be-good-enough.”  My grades were never enough.  My personality was never enough.  My talents were never enough.  There were no excuses for weakness or flaws.  And while every other kid on the block played four-square or dodgeball, I played the game of catch-up: catching up to be the kind of girl that would make my father proud, because his happiness and satisfaction in me was near-unattainable.  And that chase, that wretched chase of proving my worth to him and to others and to God – has left me disenchanted.

And that is why the cross of Jesus Christ is absolutely beautiful.  The cross of Jesus Christ says, “When you are weak, then I am strong.”  The cross of Jesus Christ says, “When you deserved to be punished, I died for you.”  The cross of Jesus Christ says, “I am your adequacy.  I am your justification.”  The cross of Jesus Christ says, “I remove every stain and blemish from your body onto mine; you belong to God now.”  Reclaimed.  Renamed.  Restored.  Repaired.  Reworked.  Remade.  Renewed.  Refreshed.  Replenished.  Relieved.  Rebuilt.  Refurbished.  Revamped.  Resurrected.  Repainted.  Redeemed.

So much for rotten lemons.  I guess you’ll always have a bit of awful-aftertaste in your mouth, but it’s nothing that Christ’s love can’t beat.  I’m still a pusher.  I’m still an overachiever.  I’m still eager to jump.  And I still have an issue with letting others do the repairing.  It’s hard to understand why my Christian friends live with all of my junk.  They tell me that they don’t live with my junk – they are just loving me with my junk.  Cute, huh?

In Christ, I am adequate and accepted.  When you leave no room for failure, you are committing the biggest failure.  It’s God’s job to be strong amidst those failures.  I wish I could hear myself say this every day.  Better yet, I wish I remembered it every time I wrote my name at the top right-hand corner of every xerox or handout I get in class.  Grace.  What does ‘grace’ mean, anyways?

Something too wonderful for me to contain, that’s for sure.