“You don’t seem like you’re fully invested in this…” he relayed, regarding a decision that needed to be made.
Tears stung the back of my eyes. I didn’t want to admit it: of course he was right, but not for the reason he thought.
I surveyed my heart. It wasn’t that I wasn’t fully invested in moving forward with his suggestion, but that I was afraid of failing.
I’m going to be honest…I did it again. A couple days of slogging through my life as a writer left me in the familiar comparison mode.
As I spent the last couple days putting words on paper, I found myself crying out to God, “Is this making a difference? Is it worth it? Is there any eternal kingdom value in what I’m doing? Or are you done using me?”
That might have been okay, but I did what I know better than to do…compare. “God, so and so is doing such and such. Look at the impact they are having for the kingdom. Why aren’t you using me like that?” and on and on I went. It was a slippery slope down to feelings of inferiority, doubt, and frustration.
I looked up and met his kindly eyes. I had been avoiding them as I sat down, not sure what I would find.
“How are you?”
“Where shall we start?”
“How about the changes since last time.”
“Well, how is it that he lost weight with all the chemotherapy and the same amount of weight he lost, I gained.”
“I noticed.”
“Somehow I didn’t think that’d get by you, but the scales don’t exactly lie do they?”
He didn’t say anything. I think he knew that was a sensitive subject for me.
Excited cannot begin to express how we felt as we entered the doctor’s office that day. It’s always special for a momma to feel her baby move inside her pregnant belly, but it’s a different kind of special for the expecting couple to see their little growing “peanut” on the sonogram screen. We followed the nurse into the exam room, traded my street clothes for the disposable paper gown she offered, and waited for my doctor to enter. When he did, he was all smiles as usual. I liked him. His positive attitude always put me at ease, and made it feel less like a doctor’s visit and more like catching up with a friend.
Both professionally in my private practice as a neuropsychologist, but also personally, if I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it 100 times: “I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.” People come to me when they are broken and hurting, in need of help, in need of answers. They aren’t sure if their child has attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, a learning disability, or autism.
Have you ever longed to be part of the group? To be noticed? Accepted? I’ve been there. Wanting to be accepted, included, validated. At a women’s conference, I hoped for the wisdom of a mature woman in the faith for my current heart’s cry. I stood in front of her, waiting in line to have just a few moments of her time. [more]
