A Little Self-Confidence

You know, I can change my own oil. I can rotate my tires, check my fluids, change my wiper blades, fix a blown fuse. I can mend my own clothes, sew on a few buttons, patch a couple of holes, hem my dress pants. I’ve changed the locks by myself before. I make a mean casserole. I’ve re-caulked a shower. I’ve done my own taxes for a decade now. My cookies are generally well-received. I am extraordinarily competent.

I’ve got ribbons galore. Swim team, science fair, various academic competitions. Certificates, trophies, graduation caps, all sorts of knick-knacks showing my achievements. I’ve got handwritten notes and pictures and poems telling me how much I’ve meant to people. Postcards, birthday cards, thank you cards, clippings from newspapers I’ve been in. I’ve got boxes of this kind of stuff, stored away in various places because it’s all important, these physical reminders of organizational and individual kindness, gratitude, recognition. I am quite accomplished and very loved.

I have been all sorts of places. Paris, London, Madrid, Rome, Vienna, Berlin. New York, LA, DC, Atlanta, Chicago, Dallas. I have friends across the globe and around the nation. I’ve performed in front of tens of thousands of people and have been on national television. I’ve been on a panel with world-renowned theologians. Hundreds of people read what I write. In the span of one conversation, I can talk with you about Milton and quantum mechanics and the Social Trinity. I can explain black holes to a third grader and holiness in speech to a toddler. I can set up a portable planetarium system in twelve minutes. I’m good at what I do.

I’m funny, you know? And charming. And gorgeous. And witty. I’m a fricking delight. I have excellent taste in music and popular culture and books and art. I have a beautiful voice and intelligent eyes and hair that a Disney princess would envy. In summary, I’m brilliant, I’m kind, I’m capable, and I’m cute as hell.

Whew.

Narcissism.

Sometimes it’s good for the soul.

Because, see, I live in a world that will tell me something completely different about myself. Or… maybe not completely different, but different enough to matter. I live in a world that will say to me, “Are you sure you want to travel alone?” or “Oh, honey, you shouldn’t be lifting that!” or “Do you know how hard it is to be a pastor?” I live in a world that has, at best, a complicated relationship with my intelligence and my body and my capabilities.

And I’m lucky.

I have plenty of people who affirm my place in ministry, who are excited about my smarts, who know I can do most things I put my mind to and celebrate that, and who think I'm wonderful for a myriad of reasons. When the world gives sound to the awful voices in my head that say I'm unworthy and unlovable and unloved, I have patient friends and family who remind me that those voices lie. No matter how right they sound, they lie. 

But I need to be able to tell myself that they're lying too. In all humility, I know my worth and my capabilities and my limitations. I do, in fact, have a balanced idea of myself, more or less. But I'm very good at listing off my faults and my "growing edges." I could be better at listing off my strengths. Should be pretty easy to do. I've been carrying mountains for decades now. 

So once more, from the top.

I can change my own oil. I can rotate my tires. I can...