Obsessive & Compulsive Self-Analysis
I wish I had a dollar for every time I've thought or said "I'm ready to quit." It's possibly a very good thing that my mom and dad planted the poem "Don't Quit" deep inside my soul. Otherwise, I might have quit a lot of quite good things too early.
Sometimes I'm so afraid of failure that I just want to quit. And sometimes what I want to quit is something that makes no sense at all. Here's an example: I was asked to do prayers of the people a few weeks ago, and I was specifically asked to address the Ferguson, Missouri situation in my prayers. As I thought during the week about how to pray for Ferguson, my prayer kept getting longer and longer; and on Sunday, I went with the full-length prayer. I admit it was long. Too long . . . maybe.
A few days later, I received an e-mail message from Clay. In it, he thanked me for participating in prayers of the people and for the thoughtfulness of the prayer I raised on Sunday. And then gently, ever so gently as he is kind to do, he reminded me of Sunday time limitations.
My first reaction? I wanted to quit. No more prayers of the people for me, I thought. That does it.
Why was that my first reaction? Because I felt like I had failed.
Plain and simple.
I'm sometimes so worried about my performance -- is it ever good enough? -- that I just don't want to gear up to do whatever it is that I'm supposed to do. The example I used above was one from church, but it also happens at work and at home and even on the golf course where I'm clearly ONLY an amateur. Why do I feel like I'm supposed to be an error-free, perfect professional at whatever I'm doing.
My fear of failure -- despite those ever-clear moments in time when I actually am no longer afraid of failure -- is always lurking, always ready to remind me, to persuade me, to compel me to "Just Quit."
I got over this one, of course. I should have -- it was really a non-event anyway. Certainly not something that demanded a "I'm ready to quit" response.
Tullian Tchividjian's blog this week hit the spot. I've modified it slightly to fit me more squarely:
"Ironically, I've discovered that the more I focus on my need to get better, the worse I actually get -- I become neurotic and self-absorbed. Preoccupation with my performance actually hinders growth because it makes me increasingly self-centered and morbidly introspective -- the exact opposite of how the Bible describes what it means to be sanctified. Sanctification is forgetting about myself.
As J.C. Kromsigt said,
"The good seed cannot flourish when it is repeatedly dug up for the purpose of examining its growth."