What are you fixating on?

The end of November was a bit bumpy. I felt as if either I specifically or a particular group in which I am a member was being excluded or passed over on three particular occasions. It wasn't fun; in fact, it hurt quite a lot. Which then led to frustration and anger and lashing out. And those things pretty much destroy relationships. Not only did I have a hard time interacting with the people who made these decisions, but I had an even harder time sitting down and being close to God. On top of that, things at school took a turn for the worse due to the complaining nature of some of our students. Parents and friends began approaching me on their behalf, saying "Something's wrong - fix it," and the Middle Schoolers themselves became more and more vociferous. It was like a poison spreading its talons throughout our school until all the grades were complaining. About everything.

You get the picture. I was down, grumpy, blue, and there was pressure on me to fix things I couldn't fix, and the things I wanted I wasn't getting.  Of course, that's when God knocked me in the head with truth again: it's never about me. Never. Not even a little bit. At least not when I've dedicated myself to being his servant (which I have). At a small group night in which we joined some other groups for Prayer Stations at school, I rediscovered grace (a fairly regular occurrence in my life). Fixating my life on anything other than my Lord and his grace is cheating myself. It's a small, simple truth with a power to change a life. That night, I penned these words. (As usual, they're still in rough draft form. Forgive me.)

See Jesus
Col. 1:15-23, Hebrews 12:2

Sunlight explodes into refractions of aqua and amber, but I’m too busy analyzing my reflection in the mirror, staring at a dull copper penny despite the open vault of treasures behind me. A pinch here and there, the introspection of my faults incessant, like water left in a sponge. Squeeze hard enough and it will be mine to control, never mind the resonance of a nearby rushing river. Squint a little, move in closer to the mirror, stand on top of an Alpine peak and keep my eyes shut.

Reminisce how I was passed over yet again. List my weaknesses to explain away the pain. Rub my arms, trying to warm myself over a tea light, ignoring the blazing fire in the garden. Shooting stars dance across the galaxy for my delight while I dig for my triple-A battery-operated flashlight – to enhance the light. I attempt to combat the looming stack of failures. Save the scrap of kindling; use the medieval manuscript instead. Burn away the truth until I’m too blinded to see.

That I’m decorating walls with kitchen scraps and tossing the priceless Van Gogh. Sleeping on a concrete floor next to a plush, King-sized, silk-sheeted bed. The world revolves around my Earth instead of the brilliant, firstborn Sun. As if my shadow held the same colorful brilliance as his visage. As if the weight of my failures could compare to the vast canyon of His proffered grace, fire, treasure, or truth. Open your eyes and look away to see.

So that's what I've been learning. It's a daily challenge to look at Jesus instead of my problems or my issues, but it's worth it. I have joy again. And amazingly, the things I was passed over for don't seem that important anymore. The complaining students have been given an outlet and appear to have quieted down. I never want to stop staring intently into His face and gaining His perspective!