I'm above average, just like everyone else

When my generation was growing up, we were taught that we could be anything we wanted to be; our only limitations were those we created for ourselves. I think I took that to heart. I used to think the only things worth doing were those things that you could do very well. I dreaded being average, mediocre; I wanted to rise above the masses, to be a great person who did great things, someone who people admired and lavished with praise.

For awhile, I thought I was that person. And then my university days ended and I got married and started over in a new city. Any one of those things will tend to shatter any illusions you have about your own greatness, but put all three together and it's more like a massive implosion.

For one thing, when my husband and I joined our church, I realized to my dismay that I can't sing all that well (depending on the song, that's an understatement. "How Great Thou Art" is a beautiful hymn, which is why you don't want to hear me try to sing it). My voice has all the expressiveness, range, and loveliness of a bawling calf. More often than not, I'll find I can't reach the high notes and then I'll take it down an octave only to discover I can't hit the low notes either. So I'll try harmonizing instead, only to find I'm not hitting any notes, just giving off sort of an off-key monotone. It's not pretty.

Much more to my disappointment, I started to realize just how bumbling and awkward I am at building and maintaining relationships with others. Sometimes I say or do the wrong thing; sometimes I don't know what to say or do at all. Sometimes things will be going well and then suddenly I'll make a mistake and then correct it only to make another. I've made a fool out of myself more times than I care to remember. I'm not as good a friend or neighbour as I thought I was, or as good a wife as I thought I would be.

When I started taking the faith seriously, I thought it would help me to transform, to suddenly be able to do the right things, say the right things, to radiate peace and joy and love. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that while God granted me the grace to love and serve even with all my weaknessess, He did not take those weaknesses away. I wasn't sure which I found more objectionable: the idea that God rejoices even in our most awkward, fumbling attempts at loving Him and our neighbors and parents and spouses or forgiving or asking for forgiveness or creating music or art or any other thing, or the idea that He allows these efforts to be awkward and fumbling to begin with.

Loving God is hard and loving others is hard, and we are weak. And so for most of us, if not all of us, these things are messy. We screw things up. We fall down, get up, and fall down again. But even when we are tired of trying and failing, of making mistakes, of being hurt and humiliated, we are given the strength to keep on going. And when we do fall and get up, I don't think we end up further away from the place were in before, or even in the same place. We fall back and we go forward, and yet it seems like we are being drawn ever closer to heaven, like an upward spiral. Sometimes our falls rid of us our pride, sometimes they make us more aware of the pain of others and fill us with compassion, sometimes they help us to rely more on God instead of our ourselves. And sometimes they don't seem to make any sense at all, but even in those times we are given the comfort of knowing that Christ took on all the weaknessess of human flesh-temptation, humilation, pain, death-so that our weaknesses could ultimately be overcome.

I have very gradually come to terms with my weaknessess, and in doing so I have been given a great source of strength.

"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me." - 2 Corinthians 12:9