On Failure: Part II
Note: friends, I originally wrote this as a journal entry on August 1, yet hesitated to share it because it is a very personal entry, even for me. Don't worry, there's nothing graphic or revealing in here, it's just good to let you know that this is pretty raw stuff straight from the heart. It's okay, because you're probably not going to read the whole thing, anyway!
Today I found out I did not get a job that I applied for, one that seemed to match my skills and experience in natural resource management very precisely. I did everything to the best of my abilities and even surrounded myself with the prayers of those closest to me. I got a great recommendation from the CEO of the nonprofit I interned with as a student, typed the best cover letter I could muster, and even gave them electronic and physical copies of my resume. You know, all the stuff the university's career services and those industry professionals tell you to do.
Yet here I am. I still didn't get the job.
I am obviously disappointed, frustrated, and acting more out of my selfish reactions than out of the love, grace and patience that Jesus holds together in my center. I am a very external person, and so when I face unemployment, it's easy for me to consider myself a failure and I'm quite tempted to analyze and criticize myself in every conceivable way. Let me tell you, it is pretty life-draining to fall into that sort of pattern. As a young American male, I want to do everything to the best of my abilities, scoff at the challenges, and protect myself with steely, naive idealism. I probably watch too many movies. It is a given that I will probably offend and hurt some people with my behavior. What comes next is the harder pill for me to swallow: this was the eighth of such failures I have faced since graduating with my degree last December. That's right, I've had eight interviews for jobs in my major, and there was always a "better" candidate and a very apologetic phone call.
I sit here, late in the night, typing to try and process the thoughts that won't allow me to sleep. You see, my tendencies to judge and criticize myself are amplified when I do not process this pain externally. These are my initial thoughts and feelings that you experience in my writing, and I'm purposefully trying not to let my nit-picky writing critic take over, because that would defeat the whole purpose.
There are a few ways I'm tempted to rationalize my feelings. First of all, we're in a recession, and I shouldn't take it personally. There are millions of people around the world who probably have more skills, experience, and education than I do and yet still suffer unemployment. When I was a student on a missions project with InterVarsity I met a men living homeless in a tent city in Fresno who has a Master's degree in Mechanical Engineering (or at least worked for years as engineers). He had been there for twenty years. This stuff has to do with economic and international foreign policy that I have no direct control over. So great. I can always blame somebody else. Secondly, it is totally natural and 'okay' for me to feel this way. But after so much effort for such little return (read "no return"), I face questions, questions that remain no matter how reasoned my logic is, and my heart still faces disappointment that trumps any reason or understanding. Like I said, I am a very external person. My communication style lends itself to long conversations and I tend to get along great with people who are good listeners. I count it a sign of trust when people share their honest thoughts and feelings with me, and so I try and live as if I have nothing to hide, to communicate and share the inside with the outside. Such is how I tend to organize reality. Such is why ministry is an obvious vocation for me, if not necessarily an obvious occupation or career choice. This also makes the failures of my efforts especially painful to deal with.
Right now I am still plagued by the deep sense of loss and failure, as if the most passionate guitar music that could come from my hands suddenly turns to dissonant, ugly noise (I have dreams like this sometimes). My psychology professors called this state "reactive depression," and it is a universal human experience that I should not fear. I am learning to embrace the Truth of God's goodness in the midst of all circumstances, and especially with the knowledge of the profound human brokenness that I see in Syria, in Santa Maria, and on the very street that I live. It is in the eyes and tears of my neighbors and friends, and even in my family that I cherish so deeply. None of us are immune to loss, and if anything, it is the only common human experience.
I pay attention to these feelings because they are important. They shape so much of my emotional development that I realize I am actually more in touch with God's grace when I accept this pain than should I choose to bury it, hide it, or run from it. If I do otherwise, I alienate myself from my neighbors, those I love, and therefore Jesus. It seems strange to write this, but these moments of failure help me to feel the love of God all the more poignantly, because now I am particularly in touch with my own humanity, my own failure to construct my destiny, my own inability to save myself. Such is the wonderful journey of surrender to the mystery of the Cross. There is no other experience that I can think of that has the power to lead us down this path. Repentance means a change of mind, it means allowing my reality to change based on His love, His terms, not my own. If I do not surrender to perfect Love I will be destroyed by my own flawed reactions to pain. This surrender feels like death. Like I said, it is death, in a way.This is a moment of death, or at least a taste of it, but this death is waiting for resurrection. This is where I have the chance to be born again in Christ (John 3).
I would much rather be honest about my feelings and strive to seek the truth of my identity as a chosen son of God than try and rationalize and categorize my pain. I am deeply emotional, and cannot afford to suffer the consequences should I choose to flee from these feelings. Numbness is the indicator of spiritual sickness for me, so I ask for your prayers that I may not fall into the easy temptation to flee from my feelings, which are hard to handle. I realize also that The Dark Night is an entirely different experience which I am still a long way from engaging (ask John of Cross if you don't know what that means). I also suffer regular and sometimes long periods of 'dryness' where the presence of God seems totally independent of my feelings. Thus I count this emotional time as an incredible blessing and indeed a sign of consolation (ask Ignatius of Loyola if you don't know what that word means)
For now, I don't enjoy crying in my room by myself, yet I trust in the face of Jesus that hangs above my desk to reorient that raw emotion into His Truth. It needs to come out.
The enemy speaks all kinds of lies that cause me to doubt myself, blame others, and let my pain metastasize into hatred and an anger that roils beneath the surface. I have hurt people like that and I recognize some of my own sinful tendencies to do this. I have a special place in my heart for people like that because I understand in some small way what it's like to slip into that. I am also touched when I see examples of people who are able to excel and yet still somehow retain such humility that it moves me to tears. We have plenty of examples of what happens when we give into our pride. I don't even need to name them; you can picture them in your head, and we all have the capacity to do the same. I want to be one of those people whose identity is so firmly rooted in Jesus that I cannot stand acting out of anything contrary to him. Such inconsistency is death, and I gladly shrug it off to embrace his new life. I also remember that I am not alone, because I'm learning about these people called mystics whose perspectives are refreshingly familiar. All my favorite books are by them, anyway. But I also am learning to accept that I am never going to be perfect, and for all my skills and experience I will inevitably screw up time and time again. It is resurrection that allows me to rise, and for eternity I will do so.
It's been a good journey so far, here one year from choosing this path of ministry. I sing my praises, saying, thank you, Father, for loving me so, especially independently of such trivial stuff as a job description!
 |
| At El Morro National Monument, New Mexico |
Today I found out I did not get a job that I applied for, one that seemed to match my skills and experience in natural resource management very precisely. I did everything to the best of my abilities and even surrounded myself with the prayers of those closest to me. I got a great recommendation from the CEO of the nonprofit I interned with as a student, typed the best cover letter I could muster, and even gave them electronic and physical copies of my resume. You know, all the stuff the university's career services and those industry professionals tell you to do.
Yet here I am. I still didn't get the job.
I am obviously disappointed, frustrated, and acting more out of my selfish reactions than out of the love, grace and patience that Jesus holds together in my center. I am a very external person, and so when I face unemployment, it's easy for me to consider myself a failure and I'm quite tempted to analyze and criticize myself in every conceivable way. Let me tell you, it is pretty life-draining to fall into that sort of pattern. As a young American male, I want to do everything to the best of my abilities, scoff at the challenges, and protect myself with steely, naive idealism. I probably watch too many movies. It is a given that I will probably offend and hurt some people with my behavior. What comes next is the harder pill for me to swallow: this was the eighth of such failures I have faced since graduating with my degree last December. That's right, I've had eight interviews for jobs in my major, and there was always a "better" candidate and a very apologetic phone call.
I sit here, late in the night, typing to try and process the thoughts that won't allow me to sleep. You see, my tendencies to judge and criticize myself are amplified when I do not process this pain externally. These are my initial thoughts and feelings that you experience in my writing, and I'm purposefully trying not to let my nit-picky writing critic take over, because that would defeat the whole purpose.
There are a few ways I'm tempted to rationalize my feelings. First of all, we're in a recession, and I shouldn't take it personally. There are millions of people around the world who probably have more skills, experience, and education than I do and yet still suffer unemployment. When I was a student on a missions project with InterVarsity I met a men living homeless in a tent city in Fresno who has a Master's degree in Mechanical Engineering (or at least worked for years as engineers). He had been there for twenty years. This stuff has to do with economic and international foreign policy that I have no direct control over. So great. I can always blame somebody else. Secondly, it is totally natural and 'okay' for me to feel this way. But after so much effort for such little return (read "no return"), I face questions, questions that remain no matter how reasoned my logic is, and my heart still faces disappointment that trumps any reason or understanding. Like I said, I am a very external person. My communication style lends itself to long conversations and I tend to get along great with people who are good listeners. I count it a sign of trust when people share their honest thoughts and feelings with me, and so I try and live as if I have nothing to hide, to communicate and share the inside with the outside. Such is how I tend to organize reality. Such is why ministry is an obvious vocation for me, if not necessarily an obvious occupation or career choice. This also makes the failures of my efforts especially painful to deal with.
Right now I am still plagued by the deep sense of loss and failure, as if the most passionate guitar music that could come from my hands suddenly turns to dissonant, ugly noise (I have dreams like this sometimes). My psychology professors called this state "reactive depression," and it is a universal human experience that I should not fear. I am learning to embrace the Truth of God's goodness in the midst of all circumstances, and especially with the knowledge of the profound human brokenness that I see in Syria, in Santa Maria, and on the very street that I live. It is in the eyes and tears of my neighbors and friends, and even in my family that I cherish so deeply. None of us are immune to loss, and if anything, it is the only common human experience.
I pay attention to these feelings because they are important. They shape so much of my emotional development that I realize I am actually more in touch with God's grace when I accept this pain than should I choose to bury it, hide it, or run from it. If I do otherwise, I alienate myself from my neighbors, those I love, and therefore Jesus. It seems strange to write this, but these moments of failure help me to feel the love of God all the more poignantly, because now I am particularly in touch with my own humanity, my own failure to construct my destiny, my own inability to save myself. Such is the wonderful journey of surrender to the mystery of the Cross. There is no other experience that I can think of that has the power to lead us down this path. Repentance means a change of mind, it means allowing my reality to change based on His love, His terms, not my own. If I do not surrender to perfect Love I will be destroyed by my own flawed reactions to pain. This surrender feels like death. Like I said, it is death, in a way.This is a moment of death, or at least a taste of it, but this death is waiting for resurrection. This is where I have the chance to be born again in Christ (John 3).
I would much rather be honest about my feelings and strive to seek the truth of my identity as a chosen son of God than try and rationalize and categorize my pain. I am deeply emotional, and cannot afford to suffer the consequences should I choose to flee from these feelings. Numbness is the indicator of spiritual sickness for me, so I ask for your prayers that I may not fall into the easy temptation to flee from my feelings, which are hard to handle. I realize also that The Dark Night is an entirely different experience which I am still a long way from engaging (ask John of Cross if you don't know what that means). I also suffer regular and sometimes long periods of 'dryness' where the presence of God seems totally independent of my feelings. Thus I count this emotional time as an incredible blessing and indeed a sign of consolation (ask Ignatius of Loyola if you don't know what that word means)
For now, I don't enjoy crying in my room by myself, yet I trust in the face of Jesus that hangs above my desk to reorient that raw emotion into His Truth. It needs to come out.
The enemy speaks all kinds of lies that cause me to doubt myself, blame others, and let my pain metastasize into hatred and an anger that roils beneath the surface. I have hurt people like that and I recognize some of my own sinful tendencies to do this. I have a special place in my heart for people like that because I understand in some small way what it's like to slip into that. I am also touched when I see examples of people who are able to excel and yet still somehow retain such humility that it moves me to tears. We have plenty of examples of what happens when we give into our pride. I don't even need to name them; you can picture them in your head, and we all have the capacity to do the same. I want to be one of those people whose identity is so firmly rooted in Jesus that I cannot stand acting out of anything contrary to him. Such inconsistency is death, and I gladly shrug it off to embrace his new life. I also remember that I am not alone, because I'm learning about these people called mystics whose perspectives are refreshingly familiar. All my favorite books are by them, anyway. But I also am learning to accept that I am never going to be perfect, and for all my skills and experience I will inevitably screw up time and time again. It is resurrection that allows me to rise, and for eternity I will do so.
It's been a good journey so far, here one year from choosing this path of ministry. I sing my praises, saying, thank you, Father, for loving me so, especially independently of such trivial stuff as a job description!
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