I love my job. No really. I do! I consider myself extremely blessed to be in an occupation that I am passionate about and in a position where I feel my strengths are used. But that doesn't change the fact that sometimes we have long weeks. Though this week isn't one of those "long" ones, it comes on the tail of a small train of long weeks. And I guess you could say the venom of stress is still coursing through my veins. How do I know this? Because of a passing comment from a co-worker about how I had "stress face." You know what she means right? That look people get when they're freaking out about something. And the comment stopped me and made me wonder, "Why am I stressed out?" I was reminded of something my mother used to say to me on a fairly regular basis throughout my childhood: "Trisha, you care too much." This was usually said because I was all upset about something someone at school had said or done. I almost laughed at the memory because she was exactly right--and it's still true today. Sometimes I care too much. I care too much that this idea wasn't fully realized or that concept flopped. I freak out when everyone doesn't get exactly what they want when they want it. I feel guilty for admitting when I need rest. I feel weak and pathetic admitting that I can't pull it off by myself.
It's like that book "You Are Special" by Max Lucado. If you haven't read it, there is a puppet named Punchinello who lives in a town where people give out stickers based on impressions they have of others--gold stars for good impressions, and grey dots for bad ones. He has a bunch of grey dots and consequently has pretty low self esteem. Then one day he meets a puppet with no stickers--they don't stick to her. She tells him it's because she visits the woodcarver. Finally Punchinello gets up enough courage to go himself and the woodcarver tells him that the stickers only stick if you let them, but if Punchinello would trust in what the woodcarver thought more than what the other puppets thought then their opinions wouldn't stick to him anymore. So often I find that I'm Punchinello--I care too much about the opinions of others. (Or rather my perception of the possible opinions of others.) I care too much about how I am viewed by those around me. I care too little about what God has to say. But maybe, just maybe, if I go to Him every day, I'll find that the "stickers" don't stick anymore and the stress that I had allowed to build up over them has lost it's toxicity.
So there we go. Today I learned a revolutionary lesson from my pre-teen childhood and an elementary school picture book.
