I work with a great team of people. We’re a varied bunch, but we’re committed to working on our unity.

I let them all down this week.

Nothing intentional, but it happened. Disappointment in myself is a weight of self-pity and discontent that feels miserable.

This week and last were the days when all our new people were moving in. There was an all-call for work, everyone showing up to help greet our new friends and help them transfer belongings from cars and trucks to apartments.

Not me.

My back hasn’t improved much at all. It hurts to pick things up, to sneeze or cough, to bend, to sleep, to sit too long. All the things I do in a day.

I went to a chiropractor for the first time ever. He described what he was doing and what would result from the manipulations. He said I’d hear pops as air was released from the spaces between joints.

I disappointed him as well. There were no pops. Just more pain when he was done.

Disappointment isn’t something I take lightly. I want others to know I’m dependable, that I’ll do the work I’m asked to do when I’m asked to do it. A little pain might be an inconvenience but it shouldn’t keep me from fulfilling my responsibilities.

Ha.

My family has warned me that bending and picking up things, like the grands, isn’t going to help with the healing process. I nod and smile in agreement.

And then I pick up Mason, who at sixteen months is a constant motion machine and weighs in at twenty-something pounds. He’s a solid mass of wiggle, so holding onto him isn’t easy.

The list of “I can’t do that” is longer than I like. It’s not just the things I want to get done to prepare for the year ahead. It’s simple things like bending over to do laundry with my front-loading washer, clearing out the dishwasher, driving a car, riding in a car. The jolts and stops and starts bring winces I try to hide and grunts I try to laugh off.

Even my downtime feels unproductive. I could spend time writing, but sitting for any length of time is uncomfortable.

The whining continues. I’m not fond of that either. I don’t want to complain, but I am.

Disappointment isn’t new. I have a high expectation of what I should be doing and what that doing should look like, and I find I don’t often live up to those expectations.

As easy as it is to beat myself up for not being more productive, I never get that response from God.

You’d think I would. He’s perfect and magnificent in all He does. I’m not. I’m messy and broken in ways I discover daily. If I disappoint myself that much, aren’t I a disappointment to God as well?

Never.

Because of my relationship with Him through Jesus, He sees the completeness of Jesus when He looks at me. Not my mess, but the perfection of Jesus’ grace poured out on me.

He sees me as enough.

In a world of disappointment, where too often I feel like too much or never enough, it’s nice to know I’m exactly who God wants me to be.

No disappointment there.

 

 

2 responses »

  1. Gina Butz says:

    Ugh-I remember the feeling well. Limitations stink. Hoping you’re better soon!

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