simply loved.

Let me begin with a confession.

It has been a most difficult year.

Some of you may be wondering why, particularly since I seem to have it all — the perfect husband who willingly listens and dances to all of my Katy Perry music and is magically cleaner than I, a beautiful house and home, a photogenic family and what seems to be the ideal life. What could I possibly have to complain about? Writing about my personal struggles during a time-frame eclipsed by global disasters like the tsunami in Japan and violence in Northern Africa seems very selfish. While it is true that to the majority of the world, my issues may seem infinitesimal in comparison, I don’t think bottling it all up would be a good thing either. So here it all goes.

For starters, this is my first year of marriage. Don’t get me wrong, R. and I are blissfully happy and we can already see ways in which we have both grown because of marriage — but who am I to say that it hasn’t been difficult? Marriage ain’t a picnic, kids… especially when you decide to become a first-time homeowner (and learn how to maintain all that house business). Next, my graduate program got disestablished. Thankfully, this decision did not affect my funding. However, it did cause several professors to leave, which directly affected the amount of resources available to those of us who are graduating this year. Not to mention, the university’s decision to cut out the only college counseling master’s program available sends a lovely message to the public at large about how the university really feels about taking care of its people. In addition to my program being cut, I have gone through “transition upheaval” at my assistantship placement with 3 different bosses in approximately 7 months. It’s hard enough to adjust to a new manager, especially if you were particularly close to your first manager, but it’s even harder when your next several bosses begin to accuse you of trying to undermine the university and its mission, not to mention talk about you in the third person, nameless category of “The Grad Student” when you are standing right in front of them. Talk about being downright rude… I do have a name, you know.

So you catch my drift… it’s tough enough to balance life as a newly married graduate student, but when that is paired with feeling unwanted by your university as well as feeling powerless at work, it just makes for a rather rough ride. To top it all, my relationship with God has just been at a standstill this year. I have plenty of empty journal pages and dusty Bible covers to prove it.

Lately, I’ve been hearing a lot of “what’s next?” questions from others. Everyone wants to know where, when, and how I will begin my career; where did I apply, to whom did I send my resume to, etc. Usually, I smile and say that I’m working on it, and that I’d let them know when I find a job. But what I really want everyone to know is that I am tired of trying to act like everything is normal, like I will have a typical job after I receive my master’s, that I will be moderately successful like the rest of my normal cohort… because the truth is that in the middle of feeling like I’ve been discarded by my university and perpetually walked-over like a doormat at work while trying to figure out what it means to be a wife, I’ve gotten a little lost.

Lost.

It’s a scary thing for me to admit. I am a high-achieving woman and feel as though I need to be strong all the time. There have been very few times in my life where I have openly admitted that I feel lost — struggling with depression in high school, getting out of very intense and hurtful relationship in college — and now this. In fact, it’s been such a scary thing for me to think about that it has taken me all year to finally piece together my thoughts and emotions and write this post. To be honest, it didn’t really click until last night.

Two days ago, I decided to sign up last-minute to participate in our church’s annual Chili Cook-off, an event that is meant to bring families from all over our church together to be in fellowship together while sampling and judging various chilis and soups. Though my church had advertised this event for several weeks, I did not sign up initially because I wasn’t able to attend the event due to a night class. But two nights ago, my wonderfully servant-hearted husband offered to deliver my chili to church in my absence and participate for the both of us. I called the folks supervising the event and proceeded to make my best chili recipe.

Now those of you who know me know that I love to cook and that I come from a family of fiercely talented cooks. Well, namely my mother, but her cooking was so famous that people request her dishes by name and have stopped going to certain restaurants because she just makes it better. Needless to say, I have quite a bit of pride in my cooking flair, something that I did not discover until after R. and I began dating. As I prepared my chili for entry, I began to get excited… what if I won? What if I broke someone else’s long-standing record… would that mean I am destined to be a chef? Soon enough, my preparations for the chili cook-off became much more than just making a stew for friends to enjoy (which is what the event is REALLY about)… instead, me entering the cook-off became a matter of worth and identity. Somehow, me winning the cook-off meant that I wasn’t really lost in life, that I really could do something well, and that I wasn’t this unwanted, powerless, stressed out woman who comes home every day feeling like she gets stupider by the day.

After I prepared the chili, I stowed it in the fridge with instructions for R. on how to handle the chili when it came time for him to deliver the goods to church. I called him at 5PM yesterday, right after I finished at work, and asked him how the chili prep was heating up. Our conversation wandered here and there until R. said he had to leave in order to be at church by 6PM. I kept my eye on the classroom clock for the next 3 hours while I sat through presentation after presentation, wondering when I would get that phone call informing me that I had won. I played mental games with myself, letting myself believe that I couldn’t possibly win, and then letting myself get excited about the possibility of winning. Participating in the chili cook-off was no longer about community and fellowship for me; rather, it had become a test of my competence and value as a woman.

My professor decided to let us out of class early. I gathered up my belongings with lightening speed and bolted out the door while speed dialing R. on my phone. He didn’t pick up the first time but called me back eventually as I was walking towards my car.

“Hello?” R. said.
“Hi,” I said, not saying anything more to hopefully encourage him to tell me that I had won.
“Well…” he began.
“Well????” I said, not able to quiet my suspense.
“Well,” he repeated, “we didn’t stand a chance to begin with.”

NOT the response I was hoping to hear.

“…what?” I said, thinking that I had heard wrong.
“Apparently everyone is supposed to get there a little earlier; by the time I got there a little after 6, all of the ballots had been distributed and the chilis and soups were labeled,” R. explained. Something didn’t click in my head… this couldn’t be.
“I don’t understand,” I said slowly, “I called to make sure that we followed all the rules, and no one mentioned anything about arriving earlier than 6!”
“Well, apparently everyone got there a little early, and they didn’t have a ballot prepared for your chili,” R. said. He could tell that I was getting upset, and proceeded to explain. “They didn’t have a spot for you, so they labeled you a second number in the soup category, and when the time came for everyone to judge, people got confused as to why there was a chili entry in the soup category and why there were two of the same numbers… it was just confusing and people didn’t understand what had happened,” R. said, “but I think you definitely stood a chance if it had not been for that confusion.”

I was livid — I had asked specifically about the parameters of entering the contest, and for sure they knew I was going to participate.

“Why are they so incompetent?” I asked angrily, “they KNEW I was entering, and they didn’t even prepare for it! I asked about getting there early, I asked about everything! Why did they have to mess this up?!” I felt betrayed. This had been my chance to prove that there was something I could do right in the world.

“Honey, people made a mistake,” R. said gently, “if it makes you feel any better, several people voted yours as their top choice — but with the mixing of the numbers, there was no way yours could have won… without the confusion, you would have definitely been in the top three.”

I was speechless with frustration, hurt, and anger. I couldn’t help but think that if someone else hadn’t messed up my chances of winning, this wouldn’t have happened at all. I felt stupid for entering and taking the risk, and I felt angry at everyone. But mostly, I was angry with myself.

“This competition is just rigged,” I said bitterly.
“It isn’t supposed to be a competition,” R. said, “it’s about having a good time.”
“Well I wish I didn’t enter and I’m not going to do it again next year,” I replied, as though I were a small, pitiful child throwing a tantrum on the floor.
“Forget this, I’m coming home,” I said, wiping a tear from my eye.
“Hey — I love you a lot,” R. said. I couldn’t bring myself to respond to him, so I just said, “I’ll see you at home.”

I simmered in the car all the way home. By the time I opened the door into the house, I was just mopey. Somehow, not winning the chili cook-off just made my flaws and insecurities look and feel astronomically bigger than usual. My pride was definitely wounded.

As soon as I stepped into the door, R. enveloped me in a hug. I felt like a rag doll, just limping in his arms like I had no bones. Instead of calling me out on my pettiness, poor sportsmanship, lack of humility, lack of love, lack of everything — R. just told me again and again that he loved me.

And that’s when it hit me. I have spent the past several months reacting to the feeling of being less than I actually think I am that I have completely forgotten that I am accepted and loved just because God is love. My dissatisfaction with where I am in life has been completely and wholly a response from actually believing that I am unwanted simply because the university says so; believing that I am powerless simply because my bosses say so; believing that I am incompetent simply because I feel so in the new and untested realm of wife-dom. My priorities have been so skewed and it took something small and insignificant like a church chili cook-off for me to realize how little my identity has to do with what I am or am not capable of doing and how much my identity is based on the truth that I am simply loved by God.

In understanding this, I now realize that my graduate program has no hold on me, and neither do my employers. Moreover, while I am in part a wife to R., I am so much more than just a wife. I confine myself to these defined categories because I am often scared to allow myself to believe that I am so much more than what I feel on a daily basis. I am simply loved — not because I can cook a mean pot of chili but because I carry in me the same substance of Christ.

I now humbly accept the fact that my worth and value is not wrapped up in something small like a pot of chili, and that God’s grace in letting me “lose” has opened the gates for me to understand His love in a deeper, and yet more simple way.

And boy, it sure feels good to say that.