We all think it from time to time. “Wow, look at her. She’s got it all together. How does she DO that?” It’s a myth, of course. No one has it all together, but that doesn’t stop us. And that’s why I love this week’s post – because I find myself thinking these very thoughts about today’s guest blogger, the lovely Anna Urquhart. When Anna sings, my soul strains against the confines of flesh, so eager is it to rise heavenward with her voice. When she writes, the language lover in me delights in her creative wordcraftsmanship. Writer, singer, wife, mother, teacher, world traveler. Geez, she even has great hair. Is there anything she cannot do? Anna’s giftedness springs from a deep well. Yet her greatest achievement is her willingness to bow down when others might be tempted to exalt themselves. While Anna’s many talents continue to astound me, it is this – her ear for the Savior’s whisper – that inspires me to look beyond the vessel to its Maker.
The Warrior Who Whispers
Guest post by Anna C. Urquhart
After graduating from college, my husband Jonathan and I tried every way possible to move just about anywhere in the country apart from Lancaster where I grew up. We were aiming in particular for Colorado, had contacts there, applied for jobs, raced down every possible avenue that might land us in the Midwest. No go. All doors closed. Any glimmer of hope that we would escape my childhood hometown was extinguished. We packed up my little navy blue Saturn and his powder blue F-150 with all our earthly belongings and drove up I-81 from Tennessee to good ol’ PA.
I have nothing against Pennsylvania or Lancaster. I love it, in fact. But we wanted something new. Something adventurous. Something away from the familiar. We were young and newly married, had freshly-inked college degrees and bravado. But we finally submitted to the fact that God wanted us to move “home”. And home it has been for the past 12 years.
We started careers (several, in fact), bought a house, had 3 gorgeous daughters, and without even noticing we somehow became “grown ups.” And all the while, each time we told the Lord, “We’re willing! We want to do more!”, we heard whispered back to us: “wait.”
Waiting has been beleaguering for me. Actually, it’s not the waiting that’s beleaguering, it’s what happens amidst the waiting. As I mentioned, I have 3 rambunctious children. (I know, people smile when I say rambunctious because they’re thinking, “Oh, I’m sure they’re just being kids.” But let me assure you, rambunctious only scratches the surface.) It is all I can do each morning to get my kids dressed, fed, and dropped off at school without losing my mind. Every morning. And then, after a full day of teaching, I pick them up after school and immediately switch to survival mode, just trying to hang on until bedtime without melting down or screaming out my frustration and exhaustion. Daily I feel like I’m failing my kids.
Additionally, I am a full-time English teacher. And if you know anything about the teaching profession, particularly the teaching of English, you know the job does not end at the end of the school day. Add to my To-Do list a writing career and graduate school, and I can’t do any of it nearly as well as I would like because I’m trying to do it all.
I don’t exercise because I just don’t stinkin’ have the time.
I don’t study my Bible because my brain is fried and I’m too tired.
I don’t clean my house because, at this point, that would require serious time consumption that I can’t afford (and, let’s face it, it’s only going to get dirty again.)
I don’t go out much with friends, nor commit to hardly anything anymore, because I think it might actually sink me to expend any more of myself.
And I have not said in a long, long time, “We’re willing! We want to do more!” (In my more cynical moments, I look at my younger self who eagerly said those words and want to kick her in the shins sometimes.)
Now, please know that I don’t need a hug or pat on the back nor words of comfort that I’m not an awful mother or terrible person. I don’t need reminders about savoring each of life’s moments. (I have a Pinterest account, I can go read some inspirational pins for that.)
I promise, I’m not trying to be rude. I know some of us compulsively must try to comfort when someone is having a tough go of it. But today I don’t want to get hung up on the “make lemonade out of lemons” band-aids and pep talks. Here’s why:
I am, in actual fact, a failure.
There. I said it. Out loud. I am a failure. I didn’t want to even write this post to avoid admitting this to more than just myself in the secret corners of my mind. But here I am. And I’m no longer trying to run away from that reality.
Strangely, it’s the human condition to fail. We’ve been put on this earth to be beacons of God’s glory yet we all “fall short” (Rom. 3:23). I’m coming to grips with this concept of abject failure. It’s not something I’m comfortable with. And I’m not supposed to be. We have been designed to strive. To work. To achieve. It is in our nature to push ever forward, as Fitzgerald said in the final line of The Great Gatsby, “So we beat on, boats against the current . . . “ Yet, God’s view of and plan for humanity is of utter fascination to me.
He wants failures.
After 12 years of “wait”, amidst a season of failure, I feel like the Lord is finally starting to tug. I don’t know what that tug means. I don’t know what’s gonna happen or where He’s leading me or our family. I am baffled by the fact that now, when I have neither energy nor inspiration, He wants to use me.
But the one truth I’ve wrung from this season of failure came in a moment sitting alone, exhausted, angry, frustrated, on my laundry-littered bedroom floor. My words ran dry. I couldn’t pray. I couldn’t think. I could only whisper, “Jesus.”
And He whispered, “I’m here.”
My failure didn’t matter. Jehovah Sabaoth, the Lord of Hosts, answered my whisper with His. Just as He did with his prophets. (Read Haggai chapter 2!) Just as He did with His disciples. Just as He did with all of His followers down through the ages. His strength is made perfect in my weakness. (2 Cor. 12:9). He is the Warrior-God who fights for me because I can’t.
I don’t yet know how that translates into the daily grind of every-day frustration and exhaustion. This lesson is still new and I’m still learning. But this I do know: My failures open the door for His arrival, and He comes with only a whisper of His name.
(My favorite line in this song: “a sacred refuge is your name.” Amen and Amen!)
Anna Urquhart is a writer, teacher, mother, and wife who (haply and/or happily) resides in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. She is currently earning her MFA in Writing from Spalding University. You can find her most days on her blog The Silent Isle at annaurquhart.com. She has been published in Fine Living Lancaster magazine and her debut novella A Silent Night was released in September by Barbour Publishing in A Pioneer Christmas Collection.
Anna,
This is so beautiful. We’re actually in the opposite situation. We’re living in Lancaster, which is 800 miles from home, and some days, we’d rather be at home. But our listening to God brought us to Pennsylvania five years ago. It’s been a rough and wild ride, one where I’ve questioned His wisdom (ha ha!) in having us here. But in the end, it’s been good. More about that when I share my story on Alison’s blog in a couple of months. So nice to “meet” you here. Congratulations on the novella publication! Maybe we’ll see you at writer’s group sometime? (Or not what with the craziness of life.) 🙂
Thank you, Lisa. It’s so nice to “meet” you too! Yours does sound like the opposite of my experience, yet at the same time similar in emotional toll and faith-building. I look forward to reading your upcoming post! And I appreciate your invitation to write group–you never know, life may cooperate and I may appear there one day to meet you in person!
“After 12 years of “wait”, amidst a season of failure, I feel like the Lord is finally starting to tug. I don’t know what that tug means. I don’t know what’s gonna happen or where He’s leading me or our family. I am baffled by the fact that now, when I have neither energy nor inspiration, He wants to use me.”
Anna, when I read these words, I forgot they were yours and not mine. That we are in the same place at the same time gives me courage to keep holding this life, these fleeting circumstances, with open hands. As always, the way forward is on bended knees. Thank you for reminding of this today!
Thank you, Alison, for allowing me to share in your “community” today. I think that you and I are not the only ones feeling this “season of failure” nor are we alone in the sense of a new Spirit-led “tugging”. And the fact that we share in this experience together we begin to see a broader scope of the Spirit’s work. So I’m with you–let’s keep our hands open and knees to the ground! Again, thank you.
Hi Anna, I rarely start reading a blog post that I expect to finish . The posts are, you know–long, mundane, narcissistic, rambling, good/not great, OR more likely it’s me–I’m too busy, lazy, distracted, shouldn’t be on the computer anyway. I say this with no pride or prejudice. Just setting the stage. I could not stop reading your post. I was drawn by your honesty, your pragmatism. I was encouraged, and trust others will be, too. I’ve been in your shoes and, oh, how I could have used your words as a salve for my tender wounds. Like you, many days I felt completely overwhelmed, usually after spending time with a “Martha Stewart Mom” (like M. Stewart wasn’t enough). Your words remind me of how hard those long days were. Your words remind to encourage younger women–the “Anna”s all around me. Blessings (not pity)!
Oh, Bev, it is such a delight to see you here! Your kind words touch me deeply. I admire the “Martha Stewart” moms, but I simply am not one of them. So it’s encouraging to me to know that you have come “through the tunnel” and survived–that means there’s hope for the rest of us! Thank you, Bev, for your encouragement and I’m so glad you were encouraged!
Bev, welcome and thank you for reading! It is such an honor to have Anna post here, and you’re right – her words have no doubt encouraged many moms (including this one) who too often feel alone in their failures, whether real or perceived. Thank you for your words of encouragement and reminder that once we’ve moved on from this frenetic stage of life we mustn’t forget to cheer on those behind us.
Possibly your best post to date, Anna. I’ve wondered for a long time how you were juggling all those balls. Bless you for your honesty, dear girl 🙂
Thank you, Danni. I’m so glad you came to visit over here with me. And now all is laid bare, wonder no more at the juggling act–cause that’s what it is, an act. (And I’m terrible at juggling.) 🙂
Hi Danni! Wonderful to see you on here. Thanks for sharing Anna with us! No matter what she says, I’d say she’s got this juggling thing down better than most, wouldn’t you? 😉
Dear Anna,
What an honest, brave post. Been there, felt that. Something I saw last night on The Middle comes to mind: the parents were being accused (again) by their son of being bad parents, and the father said “We’re OK with that.” I laughed bitter sweetly because all I ever wanted to be was a wonderful wife and mother, something I thought anyone could be. Alas those two roles were the ones I found hardest. Being a creative turned out to be so much easier, though I fought against it for so long.
I so much want to comfort you and tell you how much I admire you, how you AREN’T a failure (you aren’t!), but you forbade that, so I’ll honor your request. I will say that for me I realized I was trying to be so many things I just wasn’t meant to be, and when I decided to say (like Mike on The Middle) “I’m OK with that,” I felt sooo much better.
Hugs my friend!
Drema, thank you for sharing this! You’re right – there is so much wisdom and freedom in the willingness to say, “I’m OK with that.” This is a lesson I’ve only recently learned, and one I’ll be re-learning with every new challenge, no doubt. Thanks for the great insight!
Hi, Drema, and yes! There is such freedom that comes with saying “I’m OK with that.” However, I would add that I’m not sure I’ll ever be OK with my failure, but I am trying to learn to peacefully co-exist with it 🙂 Or maybe I’m just splitting hairs because I know myself enough to know that there will always be a prickliness when it comes to living with my own failure. And I think that exists because we aren’t meant for this world, but for something so so much more.Thank you, Drema, for your sweet words of encouragement. Hugs to you too, friend!