Amazing grace, how silent the sound.

I wrote earlier about how my mantra for this year has been to “invite love.” 

What I didn’t realize was that love requires grace, a concept that, despite being a central tenet of my faith, is actually crazy for a resentful perfectionist like me. 

I was sitting recently with a newer friend who offers no practical value to my life. They are kind of curmudgeonly, hard to get a hold of, even harder to get to know, and not particularly considerate. And yet, I love spending my time with them. I still want to see them after we’ve had an awkward encounter. I still want to talk to them after they’ve been a total grump. And I still want to hang out with them even when we see the world differently.  

Often, I’ve struggled to love people freely because my expectations for them are so high. I want them to be molded in my image, believing that my ways are right, instead of loving them for exactly who they are. Similarly, I have struggled to accept love from others because my expectations for myself are so high. I want to be molded in the image of my own ideals, believing that my definition of perfect is right, instead of being loved for exactly who I am. 

But this one recent example of my grumpy friend made me pause and think, “Ohhhhhhh… maybe this is what it feels like to love someone just because they are, not because they offer. And maybe that means that other people love me that way too – just because I am, not because I do.” 

That feels so uncomfortable to say out loud. Ever since I was little, I have felt the pressure to perform my life in a way that I deem worthy of love. Constantly, I expect myself to be a perfect friend, daughter, sister, human, Christian. I remind myself that I am the responsible one, the ambitious one, the non-problematic one, the easy one, the relational one, the funny one, and the one that people come to for advice. 

Where does that leave me when I feel like a burned-out, washed-up failure with nothing good to share?

I’ve been struggling these last few weeks. I’ve been carrying the weight of my own grief from lingering losses, disappointment in the failure to meet my own impossible expectations, anxiety over my unsuccessful job search, and frustration that God seemingly offered me hope, only to lead me into a desert devoid of water. I have also felt sorrow over the complicated dynamics in my family that didn’t exist just a few years ago, and over my inability to fix them.  Some days, I feel like this is all there is and all there will ever be. And that feels terrible. 

I’ve noticed in these moments that instead of engaging in the vulnerable effort of extending and receiving grace, and therefore inviting love, I tend to isolate. I prefer to carry the weight of things alone because it feels both safer for me and kinder to those around me. Knowing this, I prayed before a recent family gathering, “God, give me the strength and the openness to love and be loved imperfectly.” I continued that evening by quietly chanting to myself, “Stay engaged. Stay engaged.” I showed up as best as I could that night, but the shutdown creeped in anyway, and I spent the next week in silent agony, desperately needing someone to sit in the muck with me, but refusing to let them. 

Eventually, at the end of that week, my mom convinced me to talk to her. As I spoke, the weight I was carrying alone overwhelmed me, and I crumpled into a heap before her eyes. I laid it all on the table, sharing my grief, guilt, loneliness, and anger. I talked about how much I hate being dependent on others during this time in my life, and how jealous I feel of those who find it easier to open up and connect honestly with those around them. I felt so vulnerable the entire time, often covering my face with a blanket as I cried to maintain some semblance of control or composure. Afterwards, I could feel the rawness of my own heartbreak, wary that it was no longer hidden away. Even now, I’m like, “Ehhh, should I really be writing about this?” I would much rather be telling you some happy, hopeful tale.

But anyway, at the end of the conversation, my mom reflected back to me how much pressure I am putting on myself to earn the love and acceptance of those around me, instead of just showing up as I am, warts and all. 

I feel this in my relationship with God, too. I get legalism. I understand moral authority and perfectionism. I do not yet fully understand what it means to be loved in my ugliness or to give and receive grace in the midst of my anger and wrestling. 

The past couple of weeks have been difficult. I’ve leaned into sad Christmas music and have absorbed content on why God allows suffering, desperate for answers on how he redeems it. But also, I’ve had moments to practice just being. I went to a gathering of friends and strangers and didn’t try to be the life of the party, even in the awkward silences. I forgot to pick something up for someone, and apologized instead of immediately rushing back out to fix the mistake. I showed up to Christmas morning present, but empty-handed, unable to contribute my usual slew of gifts. 

I think back to my friend and how there is nothing they could do to earn my affection. They just have it. It’s freeing, in a way, to consider that maybe I really can just be myself and the right people will love me for it. It also feels super gross, scary, and kind of impossible… but progress takes time. 

I don’t know why I sometimes feel the need to share my vulnerable moments online. I think, in part, it’s because I know that I can’t be alone, despite so often feeling that way. Maybe you are like me, and this helps just a little bit. Or maybe you just think I’m crazy. That’s cool too. 

Ok friends, I’ve been deep in my feels these last several posts. Maybe next time we lighten the mood a bit? Sound good?

xx

Abbey

Titular Song: Amazing Grace (How Silent the Sound) by The Cast of Angel Series A Week Away, Antonio Cipriano, Angel