Mud and worth
Happy July, friends! It’s still HOT here in Texas - and unseasonably rainy. Sometimes that gives us a reprieve in the heat and other times it just makes it “sticky” (like my 10-year old says). Either way, it’s a quiet summer here at home - just like I like it.
Several of my favorite podcasts are doing reflections of 2020 of what they learned and are still learning. I think we will all be learning and reflecting and learning some more in the years to come of what was unearthed or birthed or taken away or fill-in-the-blank of 2020. Something I’ve been reflecting on is what happens when our plans just, well, stop and don’t go as we planned. As Americans (hello to you international readers too!), we are used to planning, controlling, plan B.2.a in case plan A.6.b doesn’t work. Then 2020 happened when things just stopped.
Did it feel like when a group of 4-year-old kids are in a line going to the cafeteria but aren’t watching who is in front of them? Then one crashes into the other and then another and another - before you know it it’s like a train halting with cute little giggles and a dog pile. That’s a bit of what 2020 felt like for me - and then it got really loud - but that’s a different post. For today, I want to talk about plans and when we sometimes just have to take it one step at a time.
Twenty years ago, I was a sophomore at Wayland Baptist University in Plainview Texas (which, in my opinion, is the best university in the world!). (I recently had the huge honor of speaking there and you can see a recap of that here.) I had begun to notice a 6’4 sophomore guy named Mike (y’all see where this is going). You know - the kind of noticing of “does he notice me?” and “oh hey! I didn’t know you would be here at the exact same time as me. What a coincidence!…” (read - yes, I totally did).
One night there was a basketball game and we decided to walk across the campus together. I imagined a magical night under the great Texas sky of walking the 4 minutes to get to the stadium and spent way too much time deciding on an outfit that part-chill, part-cool, part-I-hope-this-looks-good. We chatted, we walked, everything was going fine, thank you for very much. In my mind, I was very impressive. Until we came across a massive puddle of mud in front of us from the recent rain. He jumped over just fine (because, remember, the dude is tall). I’m tall too and I had run the hurdles in highschool. So, by golly, I got this. I could have gone around it like a normal person - but, I had some impressin’ to do, am I right?
Do you see what’s coming? I took a giant leap to impress the 6’4 heartthrob of mine and well, I missed - miserably. Not the kind of missing where your shoes get dirty. Like flat on my face in the mud with my great Texas hair and outfit completely covered. What’s a gal to do after that? Lay there for a minute and hope he didn’t notice? Hard to miss! I saw his hand stretched out to me. He helped me up, we laughed really hard, and I said, “I can’t go to the game like this!” - as if he didn’t know that. Ha!!! (This part of the story always makes me laugh - like he didn’t know I couldn’t go to the game COVERED in mud.) Back to the dorm we went while he waited for me to freshen up and try to redeem myself.
But the lesson for me that day was I had no redeeming to do. Although I felt like I had ruined our plans and his views of me, it was actually no big deal. Just a little mud. And, a whole lot of laughs - in fact, we still laugh about it and our kids do too.
I learned a lesson that day that my worth is not built in what I had planned and it going perfectly. My worth is also not built in aquanet-perfected hair and mascara and a great outfit. Because sometimes all of that gets covered in mud. And, that’s ok when you are around people who simply love you for being, well, you. It was a much bigger deal in my mind than it actually was in reality - and, I needed the lesson that night for Mike to say, “It’s not a big deal” and to just laugh.
I think we need that from God too. We need to remember that when our plans don’t go how we want them to, when we feel like we run into the 4-year old friends right in front of us like a train-wreck, when we are embarrassed from being covered in mud - I think we are met with some joy, levity, and a hand to help us up. Then we pivot our plans, clean ourselves up, and step-by-step do the next thing. It’s all grace. It’s also a step-by-step walking. That likely takes relearning the always-planning mindset, doesn’t it?
Do you feel like 2021 has been like that for you? A learning to do the step-by-step, day-by-day next thing? I have. And you know that? I’m given just enough for the next step, the day, the hour. It’s like the manna that I last wrote about here.
I hope that today you are encouraged if your plans have been disrupted or you feel like you tried to make it over that gigantic puddle and ended up in the mud. There’s someone there to help you back up. And some joy to be had if we will laugh. And a strong lesson in learning to simply walk when we have been used to run-planning-at-full-speed. It’s ok to rest and go slower, friends.
By the way, that 6’4 hearthrob and I made it to the end of the game that night and ended up walking around campus for hours talking. A few years later, I would marry that man who held out his hand to help me out of the mud. 18 years later, we are still step-by-step and hand-in-hand walking through what comes next. Together. And, I’ve quit the hairspray obsession. Because what matters is not perfection - it’s togetherness and worthiness of simply being loved.
I hope you feel that today. For simply being you - regardless if you made it over the puddle or not. =) Nowadays, I jump in mud puddles with my kids.
-FNE
**As a reminder, if you’re not getting Mike’s writings in your email inbox go here to make sure you’re signed up. He has written some excellent reflections of 2020 from a faith perspective lately.