Conquering Jericho-Walls

When I was young, my mother wrestled with chronic, tormenting depression. It was an ugly thing that twisted her in knots both physically and emotionally – something my youthful mind could not begin to grasp. At times I greatly feared her, as well as my dad (who was consumed by explosive anger). My own anxiety came out in the form terrifying panic attacks that I tried to hide lest I, too, be given electric shock treatments like my mother. I retreated out of self-protection, and sought solace in my own private moments down by the lake (in the summer) or in my bedroom (in the winter).

Mother painfully fulfilled her responsibilities as a homemaker, which left little energy for relationship. I sometimes felt isolated and unsure of myself, as if I somehow didn’t matter. I realize this was not my mother’s fault, but rather circumstances, and yet it was debilitating.

However, one day she asked me to sit in the big navy blue, overstuffed chair in the living room, and then sat down on a footstool next to me. I knew something big was up; she NEVER did this kind of thing. Was I queen for a day? Or in trouble?

She held up a paper. I was probably 6 or 7 years old, and felt very small in the big chair.

“I just got an IQ report from school. It says you can do ANYTHING you put your mind to. Aren’t you happy?” I’m sure her positive announcement was motivated by gratitude and hopefulness. She wanted nothing but the best for me. Still, it was so out-of-context, as if that piece of paper held my one-and-only possible ingredient for success.

My photographic memory recorded the moment for posterity. PERFORM WELL AT ALL COST.

At the time I acknowledged the good news without understanding the IQ part. All I knew was that I had a new identity that expected me to be a high achiever. That was a blessing of sorts, but it landed on an insecure heart that had never heard the spoken words, “I love you.” In fact, since both of my parents were struggling with deep emotional issues during that phase of their lives, my perspectives were skewed. I felt like dead weight that was sinking with them into a miry bog. My only goal was to stay afloat, and I knew not how.

The encouragement to “do anything well” evolved over the years into “do everything perfectly and make everyone happy while you’re doing it.” In some ways, it became a curse. I was able to multi-task and work quickly, thanks to a strong body and creative mind, and learned to expect a lot from myself.

Eventually what was intended to be a blessing translated into compulsive driven-ness. I would not allow myself to go out to dinner with friends in college, but stayed home to study. Instead of cultivating an adequate garden as a newly-married woman, mine was huge – enough to feed several families. Rather than cooking reasonable meals for my family, I strove to be lavish (as the budget allowed). In those days I made sure everything - even the barbecue sauce - was homemade. When we needed extra cash, I cleaned other peoples’ houses and dragged our youngest child around with me. I eventually became a small business owner to assist with the kids’ college expenses, and poured every ounce of myself out freely for grabby (but grateful) patrons who lapped me up like so much honey.

Make no mistake, I do not place fault on anyone (either myself or my parents) for this state of affairs – I’m just reporting facts. I’m also not saying selfishness should come before service to others. It’s just that much of life is a balancing act, and I was a lousy juggler. Self-sacrifice became an idol…a sort of Jericho with walls that needed to be conquered.

After the recent camp kitchen experience, I started digging back into the past. I realize I’m still tempted to live by my early mantra: “Perform beyond reasonable expectations.” That’s who I am – at least according to the Jericho-wall that was erected at a very young age. Without this performance mentality, who would I be?

For at least the last 30 years God has been teaching me that I’m loved just as I am, that I don’t need to earn acceptance or unconditional love or prove myself through performance gymnastics. I’ve heard His message from behind my Jericho-wall, believed the muffled but cherished truth, and have seen the wall gradually begin to crumble.

The real miracle at Miracle Camp (note the play on words) is that God intervened, this time by exposing my weakness and suggesting His strength (my rescue) might look totally different than what I expected. Like a wrecking ball, He bowled over the rest of the Jericho-wall. I COULD NOT PERFORM the job, and yet that didn’t translate into failure. It simply pointed out that I’m quick to look in the wrong place for validation, and that He was using this experience to direct me elsewhere.

I’m finally sick and tired of being a good-girl for the sake of being a good-girl, and doing anything (everything) I put my mind to in order to maintain the good-girl status. Good-girl-ness has been like wandering in the desert for 40 years (or more) - going through the paces of “being good,” while side-stepping the real issue: obedience to God. Instead, I hope to see myself as headed toward my own promised-land-era, and take to heart the counsel given the Israelites as they prepared to enter their promised land: love God (Deut. 11:1), remember His mighty works (11:2), observe His commands (11:8), and be careful to avoid idols (11:16).