The Achilles' Heel

It's been a while now since I got the e-mail, but it still bugs me a bit. There was a parishioner who had gone through an extensive bit of surgery and was recovering well. The Deacons had gone out regularly and she had received a handful of calls, visits, and card from well-wishers. All reports back to the office were that she was in great spirits. Thanks to vacation, continuing education, and plain 'ol prioritization, I hadn't made the effort to go and see her. Admittedly, I should have. Then, one Monday morning, the one-line e-mail with no subject:

"So are you ever going to come visit me?"

Dangit. That bugs me. Bugs me a lot. Still does. And not in the "I'm so angry I could yell at you" way, but in the "Why did you have to go and make me feel like garbage" way. And it bugs me because it works. I got out to see her the next day...she was happy as a clam to see me out there, and now everything is fine. But it still bugs me.

It bugs me because I'm going to spend some time today running up to Lowe's to get come light bulbs because somebody in the congregation has noticed something that I have noticed...that some of the lights have been going out in the sanctuary. They let me know about it every time I see them. And, yes, I know that it's not my job to go buy light bulbs. And, yes, I know that I'm giving him exactly what he wants. But I've reached the end of that line of thought...I have thought that every time he's brought it up, and placed it on the back burner every single time. Today...I'm doing it. Why?

Because of my Chicago-sized Achilles' heel: I'm a people pleaser.

I need people to like me, to like coming to this church, and to like each other. I want people to be happy. And even though I have realized this personality trait, observed it, heard time and again in seminary that it will burn me out, worked as hard as I can to ignore/change it, and have done what I can to undermine it...it's still there. It still bugs me and makes me feel like dirt when I get that e-mail. It still bugs me when I get guilt trips about not doing enough. I still take it personally when the only thing people talk to me about it what's wrong with the church. I still have way too much riding on positive feedback and "warm fuzzies."

And probably the most frustrating thing of all is that I know this...and on my best days I can get over it. But then there's periods of time when I can't help but claim all the guilt and all the responsibility. There are times of extended self-pity/delusion when I feel like there's too much to do, that nobody is happy, that all the programs and sermons and visits aren't "working,"

And it's all because of what I have done or left undone.

Funny how this works...I really had no idea where I was going with this post. But after writing that last sentence, a parishioner came into my office, and we started talking about his son. We talked for an hour. His son, who lives halfway across the country, continues to make bad decisions even to the point of putting his life at risk. As he told me this story, he started to share with me the guilt, the pain, and the responsibility he and his wife feel every time something goes wrong; they go down the, "if we only did this..." road and scrutinize their parenting. And when he was done, he asked me what I thought. I found something flowing out of my mouth, plain as day (something I was once told in relation to myself):

"Would you take credit for it if he was rich and successful right now?"
"No...well, no. Not too much."
"Well then why are you taking all the credit now?"

We talked about loving someone without taking full responsibility for them...and how that becomes harder as the love gets stronger. We talked about praying, stopping, walking away and getting perspective. We talked about getting more sleep, about not letting it be all-consuming; about not spending so much time and energy trying to fix everything.

And I think he left feeling better, knowing that God had moved in our conversation to bring some of that perspective and peace. But what I don't think he knew was that he was being used by God, even in his struggles, to bring that perspective and peace to someone else.

That even when we feel broken and defeated, even when it feels like we're throwing punches at a brick wall...we realize that it all doesn't lie on us, that it is God who is moving...

Even when we know we're the ones who need the help.

Check that, epecially when we're the ones who know we need the help.