Not ready

It’s not a special occasion. Not a birthday, not an anniversary, not the beginning or end of a calendar year or school year. There is no imminent transition. Yet tonight, on the most ordinary of nights, I am taking stock the only way I know to take stock now – which is when the stars align and I have space in my head and time on my hands and – quite simply – I can.

Tonight was one of the rare nights when I went to worship service alone. Ryan is in LA visiting his parents. And it’s not like we chat with each other normally during service, but somehow, by sitting alone, my head felt clear. (I guess that’s one of the clear signs that I’m an introvert.)

The sermon tonight was the third in the series “The Truth About You,” and entitled “You’re Never Really Ready.” Using Matthew 28:16-20, our pastor talked about how Jesus called his disciples when they were incomplete (just a group of 11) and lacking in faith (“some doubted”) and gave them the Great Commission. He went on to talk about how God calls us to things when we don’t feel ready – because we don’t need to be ready – we just need to go and do and be with God.

It struck a chord.

I think back to 4 years ago, when I gave the morning assembly message at DGS and tried to make a point about what it means for to be a mother. I went around to the moms among the teachers and asked them about all the poop they cleaned and the diapers they changed. I calculated that they had an average of 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep per night. I talked about the unconditional love that parents give helpless babies who cannot give a single thing in return. I guess I had some inkling of the cost of parental love. But I thought of it mostly in terms of hours of sleep, number of diapers.

I didn’t realize that the average 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep per night for the average parent of a baby (at least among my co-workers) insinuated that some of them would only have one. And that that would be my experience. I didn’t realize that the diapers were the easy part. The part you could control, the part that you could just do and get it over with.

I didn’t realize that the weight of love was not the getting up and changing the diapers – but it was all the things behind and around and over the tasks – the long, slow struggle to accept the change in life and lifestyle, the piercing shame of the fear and resentment that came with parenthood, the burden of an unrelenting, lifelong commitment, the stark and unforgiving revelation that I am selfish to the very core, that unconditional love was beyond me.

I was not ready, not even close.

Even two years in now, with parenting becoming a bit easier, the bond we have with Zeke so strong and deep, and the cliché post-hoc gratitude for God’s gifts, I still ask God sometimes, “Why did you make us parents when we were so far from ready? Why did it have to be so painful?”

And I think about 90% of my peers, perhaps even my generation, who are planning all these things out so well. I felt like a failure at the time – either I had failed to plan or my plan had failed – but either way, my life trajectory was slipping out of my hands, the timing of events not going as I wanted, and that was evidence of a lack of capacity. I wanted to fit in with my peer group, to have the right profile, and all that seemed to crumble with sooner-than-wanted motherhood.

Then, a few months into motherhood came the guilt – the guilt that we didn’t welcome Zeke right away with open arms, that he didn’t get all the love from joyful parents that were rightfully his. God, why would you give a precious child to such sinful, immature, selfish people?

Wait a second here. Did God also give the Great Commission to a bunch of people who doubted him? Who still doubted after seeing the risen Lord with their own eyes?

Why do You entrust things of utmost importance to failing, imperfect, unwilling, and fickle people?

Wait - wait a second again. Am I actually asking God why he uses jars of clay?

“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.” – 2 Corinthians 4:7

I’m a planner, and I know that that’s because I have a ton of fear. I get angry in situations when I’m afraid, because that is how I cope with losing control. I don’t like surprises. I like to prepare in advance. I like to have a stash of tools and strategies to deal with things. I get mad at people when they don't give me time to prepare and train and hoard things. All these mean I like to leave very little room for God to show up and do things that only He can do.

Maybe it’s time I learned to move when I don’t feel quite ready.

I think back to that very first week when I was pregnant with Zeke the summer of 2011, and I didn’t even know I was pregnant. And after months and months of dealing with the lingering fear and shame that I was not able to jump off the top deck of a boat (it’s common to rent these “junk boats” in Hong Kong with friends over the weekend to hang out at sea), I finally did it. But I didn’t really do it. Ryan was holding my hand, and he jumped, and my body tipped forward with his. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t brave.  I was simply holding on to someone’s hand.

Tonight I felt freed from the question I’ve held onto the last 30 months about the timing of Zeke’s arrival. “Why so soon?” Because we didn’t need to be ready, so long as God was with us.

“And lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” – Matthew 28:20