Measuring Up

Remember those growth charts parents would hang in their children's rooms? The ones with giraffes or other cute animals on them? We would measure our children as they grew, marking the chart or the wall or even a yardstick, with milestones reached each birthday. Some families created measuring walls or posts that now serve as bittersweet mementos of the past, growing up, and simpler times. Grandparents aren't any different--we love to measure and record the growth of all our grandkids. Since we live in a log home, and have exposed beams and posts throughout, we have set aside three posts--one for each of our children's families--to mark the progress from infancy to adulthood.  With kids (and grandkids) scattered around the US and India, not all of them can visit at the same frequency, resulting in some kids having more marks than others. But that's okay--we still love marking their growth, and we marvel at how quickly each one is shooting towards adulthood. I even bought myself a wood burner so I can permanently etch a line for each measured occasion. 

But I digress (as I am prone to do). Human beings love to measure things--weight, height, age, bank account, calories, sporting scores, mileage, you name it, we measure it. We may not always like the results of our measurements, but at least they are concrete numbers, and definable. Even better, we can track progress, set goals, and measure (there is that M word again) achievements and set backs. And that is often how I have gone through life...checking my progress, taking notes, evaluating how I am measuring up. How old am I? What did I score on my promotion exam? How much do I weigh (yikes!)? How much should I budget for my next vacation? Do I have enough in my account to cover a home repair? How many miles until we get to the grandkids'? 

So many questions, so little time...and I am an overachiever, perfectionist, with ridiculously high expectations for myself; regardless of the task or goal, I typically set the bar so high that it is humanly impossible for anyone to meet them, even superhero me.

All these numbers and measurements appeal to my sense of orderliness and things being in the right place, nice and neat and easy to decipher, and easy to ascertain corrective actions, what I am doing right, and what I am doing wrong...in other words, I can measure my room for improvement and correct my course accordingly. Cut my calories, increase my exercise, save more money, spend less money, study harder, drive faster...measure again. Whew! On track now. 

But, how do I measure my sanctification? How do I know if I am measuring up to Christ? Meeting God's expectations? Accomplishing what I should be accomplishing, fulfilling my purpose in life, in line with His will? I see myself as flawed and sinful and inadequate, and I panic. A lot. Worse yet, I continue to see myself as certain people in my life have painted me--you know, the ones who sued me, betrayed me, and shunned me. They were family, so they must know me better than anyone else, right? So I push myself, trying to measure up to my own unachievable, unrealistic expectations, to prove I am NOT that person they see me as, that I am worthy and good and, well, salvageable. And when others tell me I am good and decent and honest and, not only loved, but LOVEABLE, I shake my head and don't believe them. I keep pushing, keep straining to be perfect, to prove myself, to be, after all, like Christ. Measuring every single word, each and every breath, holding myself against the standard of God's own son. 

Until lately. Not only has my husband told me I am too tough on myself, that I hold myself to an impossible standard, and that I am blind to all I have accomplished, but a dear, dear friend laid it all out for me in a letter the other night. She reminded me I am human, that moving mountains is above my pay grade, and that I will NEVER meet the standard I am straining to meet. Nor should I even try, because, as she so poetically and succinctly put it:

"When we come to the unscalable wall, He is reaching down, gripping our forearms, and pulling us up and over. When we are belly-crawling through the mud, He is in front of us and on either side of us and cheering us on. He expects us not to handle all the details of this imperfect world, but to lean on Him as we do our imperfect job. Give up trying to measure up to Christ. You're wasting your time and it's hurting your spirit."

A major ah-ha moment. Life in Christ, growing in grace, as the title of my blog says, is NOT about measuring up to my standards, let along the standards and expectations of anyone else...including those who love me and those who do not. My sole purpose is to put my faith and trust in Jesus Christ, and seek HIM at every turn, and, instead of measuring my growth or progress or successes or failures, to fall on my knees and give thanks for the immeasurable, beautiful, boundless love He has for His children, for the grace that covers every manner of "not measuring up." God measures me against the cross, His Son's shed blood, and the conquered grave. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, I do or say or think or hope will ever measure up to that, nor does it have to.

And that leads to the final and pivotal issue I face (and fight and fuss and fluster over) on a daily basis: how others see me. I want to be loved and good and perfect and worthy and understood and respected, and most of all, I want to reflect Christ in all I do. But my past haunts me, and I still see myself as those misguided, toxic, and mean-spirited souls portrayed me; the mirror they held in front of my face was not unlike those fun house mirrors at amusement parks, distorting my image to the point of being unrecognizable (and impossible to love). For some time, I remained trapped in that fun house of mirrors, surrounded by derisive laughter. Until I broke free, and shattered the glass. And began to see myself as God sees me, a new creation, covered in the grace of His beloved son. At least half of the time that is how I see myself--admittedly, at times I get sucked back into that funhouse and cannot fathom why friends see good in me. 

Good thing I am blessed with people who love me, who see me as God sees me, and who love me...maybe not as much as my Father loves me, but enough to help me believe them when they say I am loved and beautiful and fearfully and wonderfully made. After all, I am still growing and, as Paul says in Philippians: 

"Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling," (Phil 2:12)

Will I ever measure up? No. "All have sinned and come short of the glory of God" (Rom 3:23). 

Nor do I need to.