Hope built on nothing less (or mine should be, anyway)

Last week was a busy one. Busy hands, busy feet -- and busy mind. Curiously, although it seemed strangely detached from what was actually going on round about, the mind stuff was the most exhausting of all. I (repeatedly) came up against something I've struggled with a lot during the past eighteen months: insecurity.

In this day of self-esteem and self-talk and, yes, self-infatuation, insecurity has become a word that we all hear a lot but don't always understand. It may be something different to everyone. For me, it manifests itself in a complete lack of confidence which undermines my ability to make decisions, be courageous, welcome new experiences, and even interact with others. When I am feeling insecure, I want to become a hermit. (Seriously.)

Moving from Western Australia to Queensland early last year launched me full-speed into this journey of insecurity. I had thought, before, that I was a secure, capable, confident woman. What I didn't realise was that I felt secure, capable, and confident -- mostly because I was surrounded by people, places, and a lifestyle that was familiar and comfortable. Moving to an entirely new state, a new city, finding a new church, and having no regular form of income -- it stripped me down to myself, and I realised there wasn't a lot there. I had become my home, my friends, my church, my money (however little of it there was), and my lifestyle. With all of that taken away, I felt like a shadow.

God has used this season -- and continues to use it (more than conquerors, anyone?) -- to remind me that the only true security is God-security. Even knowing ourselves, having "self-confidence" or a good concept of our own "self-worth", is not security. It's empty and as vain as a puff of wind. If I cling to any of that, then a bad hair day or a thoughtless word spoken in anger can shake me from my settledness.

At a Bible study a little while back, the very wonderful Anastasia challenged we little handful of girls to write who we are, without defining ourselves by our work, our appearance, our family, our history, our possessions, or our roles. It was incredibly thought-prokving (not to mention hard!), and it reminded me yet again how much of my identity tends to be wrapped up in what I do rather than who I am -- or, more importantly, whose I am.

Last week, slopping around in the mire of identity distraction, God used some amazing lyrics to help me re-focus. I walked into the room where my sister was sewing (the grey cloud over my head was almost visible by this time), and this was playing:

I'm not the clothes I’m wearing
I'm not a photograph
I'm not the car I drive
I'm not the money I make
I'm not the things I lack
I'm not the songs I write

I am, I am, I am who I am
I am who I am

There are true things inside of me
I have been afraid to see
I believe, help my unbelief

Would you say again
What you said to me?
I am loved I am free
I believe, help my unbelief

I'm not the house I live in
I'm not the man I love
I'm not the mistakes that I carry
I'm not the food that I don’t eat
I'm not what I’m above
I'm not my scars and my history

To your love I’m waking up In your love I’m waking up

There are true things inside of me
I have been afraid to see
I believe, help my unbelief

Would you say again
What you said to me?
I am loved I am free
I believe, help my unbelief.

(JJ Heller, True Things)

It all comes down to two things: we are loved and free in Him, and to seek our identity or security in anything other than this truth is unbelief. I want to remember this. Lord, help my unbelief!

----------

also:

• Happy, happy birthday, oh lovely Caitlin!

----------

conversations:

Beth -- hooray for literacy indeed! (Scooting over to read your response to the meme now...)

Caitlin -- books that are challenging to the point where it hurts sound super. I must read me some Jerry Bridges!

Staish -- :) you make me feel like my little words aren't just going out into the great void of the interwebs. You are awesome!

Bethany -- nooooo! You could never sound like an idiot! I thought that a meme was simply a little thingummy that the blogging world has bred. But according to Wikipedia, the concept extends far beyond blogging and refers to any idea or behaviour that can pass from person to person. With regards to the internet, it mostly denotes a little survey-ish type form that is passed from person to person to share ideas on a similar theme. Since most memes are kind of self-centred in tone, I pronounce it me-me :), but the real pronunciation is, I believe, closer to 'meem'.

Weekend XI :: the untaught harmony of Spring

I didn't make that up -- the untaught harmony of Spring; it's a line of poetry from someone brilliant whose name escapes me, and it (the line of poetry, not the name) bounced into my memory when I was considering how to sum up my weekend. I have decided I can't, really, properly. It was all sunshine and flowers and taking things slow and dusty feet and perspiration. So I shall let the pictures tell you instead. Start at this picture and click your way through using the right arrow in the browse box.

One part of our weekend that I didn't record in pictures was The Lame Movie Fest we unintentionally found ourselves participating in. We thought: a slow weekend, everyone together for once... Sounds like movie time. Alas, even though I haunted my movie-choosing best friend, PluggedIn, and my mother and sister browsed the shelves of our local Blockbuster, we couldn't think of anything new and wonderful that everyone wanted to see. So we settled instead for something old and wonderful: The Great St. Louis Bank Robbery and The Bedford Incident. Vintage Steve McQueen (a la, pretty much one of my favourite actors of all time) and Sidney Poitier; you can't go wrong, right?

Oh yes. The Great St. Louis Bank Robbery began incredibly slowly. I am fond of old movies, but this was s-l-o-w. Dad fell asleep, early on, but the rest of us hung on for a glimmer of promise. It surfaced, eventually, developing into a slightly Hitchcockian, atmospheric film with some cool camera angles (and the obligatory shrieking, ticking-clock-style soundtrack).

The Bedford Incident started at a slightly quicker pace, with richer characterisation (since I'm making comparisons, think Hemingway this time) and more relaxed acting. But after slowly, slowly dragging us into the plot, both movies let us down. All I will say is: if you enjoy movies where all the main characters (that you have just spent the last ninety minutes trying to learn to like) end up either a) shot, or b) blown up, these may be just the films for you.

----------

also:

• Today I made up a meme and I think you should try it because I'd really like to see your handwriting and a list of your current favourite things.
• Tegan, you wanted to see cards when I made them? I loaded a picture of one for you. It's not very special, but in future you can see any new cards in this photo set.

----------

conversations:

Alissa -- off to stream some This American Life!

Caitlin -- bravo for phonetic pronunciations, I say! 'Stow-match' definitely makes more sense :). And, yes, we are loving having a little nephew to dote upon (even if we must dote long-distance-ly).

Meaghan -- inevitable is rather tongue-twisty; I had to think twice as I typed it :). And I'm so happy you got the Don Quixote/porridge reference. I never know if anyone else will make sense out of my weird twistings of the English language. But I know I can count on you :).