3am ramblings...

I was reading "The Growing Up Pains of Adrian Plass" (by Adrian Plass). I love his writing because I flatter myself that we are very similar types of people, he writes of themes and in ways that I would like to or have written about myself.
So last night when I wasn't sleeping (as per usual) I was reading about Adrians struggle with vulnerability which mirrors my own... here's what he had to say.

On the following Wednesday night I described this event to Company* viewers, pointing out how vulnerable I had felt when Ian first asked me to take the service. I had feared failure of some kind, failure to deliver the Christian 'goods', failure to make the ven memorable and meaningful, failure as well, if I'm honest to impress. It occurred to me after the programme was finished that I was still playing games about honesty and openness. I had often said to people that I was quite happy to lay myself open at the Company table; to be truly vulnerable;but was I really? Later as I settled comfotably back into my seat on the southbound train from Victoria, I frowned thropugh the murky glass of the window and conducted an inner dialogue with myself.
* (company was a religious program on a local television station that lasted about 15 mins on Wednesday evenings)
'What do you mean when you say I'm not vulnerable on Company? I've just told goodness knows how many people about my rotten selfish feelings when Ian asked me to...'
'Ah yes. So you hvae. Did you tell Ian that at the time?'
'Well, no - but...'
'And isn't it a fact that you rather enjoy running yourself down about things that have already happened? It makes you feel good, and it protects you from real criticism.'
'Well...'
'Doesn't it?'
'I suppose so - but, look. What about the way I've talked about the arguments and problems Bridget and I sometimes have. That's real enough.'
My internal inquisitorchuckled. 'Oh, yes. I know what you mean. You mean when you and she sit there full of confidence and looking crackers about each other, and talk about the terrible problems you have.'
'But we do have problems! Surely it must be worthwhile to talk about things like that."
'Oh, yes. I've no doubt it is. But that's not what we're taliing about. We're talking about your claim that you're vulnerable sometimes. let me ask you a question.'
'Yes?'
'Has it ever cost you anything, mentally or emotionally to say the things you say around that kitchen table?'
East Crydon flashed by. I sighed.
'No it hasn't'
"Aren't you actually determined not to show your real feelings to anybody, let alone television cameras?'
I inadvertently vocalised the irritable 'Yes!' with which I answered this question, slightly shocking a precise looking elderly lady on the other side of the carriage. Perhaps she thought that I was practising being positive.

VULNERABILITY!! It's such a struggle to show love to others by being vulnerable with them. I think because there seems to be a fine line between those that are able to be vulnerable and those that pour out in an obsessive way all their insecurities and vulnerabilities to anyone and everyone that will listen without a desire to be helped. Only wanting pity and sympathy. Feeling used by these type of people is the very reason I struggle with vulnerability. Pride doesn't let me be vulnerable for fear of being numbered amoung them.

Still last night convicted by these chapters... I wrote out some of my vulnerabilites.... for all to see :D
... The truth of the matter is... I'm not sure where I should be. I can say the right things and I can tell myself that presently I am a product of my circumstances. That there are things in my life keeping me from moving forward into the 'more' that God offers. The 'abundant life' I'm so happy to talk about but often times afraid to live.
It is true that there are circumstances that presently keep me from the future I assume God has marked out for me... but it is only true in part.
There is a more even in the waiting, an abundant life that I in my sulky childish way have refused.

It seems like for months now I have been more than content to offer God the bare minimum of myself, my time, my thought life, my energy, my prayers. Almost a "tit for tat' measure. Because I feel a bit like God has been witholding, I hold back with Him.
Because of this the time in the Waiting Room (as I like to call it) has not been so unlike times I have sat in hospital waiting rooms. Hands to myself so as not to pick up any germs. Eyes downcast so that I don't meet the gaze of others who like myself are wondering and imagining what everyone is is in for. Occasionally glancing at charts and posters on the wall that remind of the hazards of various foibles, that gladly I don't count myself a part of... Drunkeness, Smoking, Gluttony, etc.
I remain, sat there, sefl involved and applauding mysefl for not being the person those posters are aimed at Thinking proudly of what I haven't done, rather than shamedly at what I should be doing. Trying all the while to push back the fear that when I finally get in to see the doctor he will somehow find something very wrong with me and possibly fatal that I hadn't realized.
I'm sure you can see the connection... Instead of actively pursuing God, pursuing life... I wait self involved and fearful that the future that I hope for will be snatched away and I'll be told that I am in fact quite a hopeless case. Miserable. And I have been miserable. And it has been my own fault. My own selfish, childish, sulky self, throwing rocks at the gates of heaven... trying to get God to pay attention to me and give me the life I think I deserve because somewhere along the line I felt he was leading me in that direction.
Silly... I'm a silly girl who God in His mercy loves very much!