The Steadfast Heart

If I had one fatal flaw, it would undoubtedly be my ability to manage expectations. I suspect I will be practicing how to reasonably set expectations my entire life, but weeks like this last one make it feel like I’m only getting started.

Holidays are built on anticipation. And once they arrive, strategic management becomes a laughable endeavor. At least in my experience. Parenting a six and four-year-old has been an exercise in patience and endurance this year. I’m learning I can coach their character, but I cannot control their reactions. Opening gifts once again this week taught me that.

The other thing about holidays is that it brings family together, some you can go all year without seeing. November and December have been full of gatherings like that. The funny thing about expectations is that I often don’t realize how high I’ve set them until I’m disappointed by what is not met. I’d like to think I keep a positive outlook on life, like a wishful thinker. It’s my sunny disposition that lands me in a despondent state, post-expectations.

Somewhere the parents who raised me are laughing in amused disagreement.

What’s more likely is that I didn’t anticipate things not going as I pictured, even though what I had in mind seemed simple enough. For days in a row, I had the chance to be with the same people all day, every day. People I see quarterly, some less often than that. It’s rare we’re all together, and this year, I’ve made tremendous efforts even at a distance to take an interest in several of them.

For one, I read a thousand pages of their favorite book this fall. We don’t have much in common and I was daring to create common ground. For a few others, I spent hours listening to their social content in an effort to learn more about them. I said yes to time throughout the year with one, at the expense of my clear conscience. Others I wrote to, and tried to ask pointed questions that showed I cared.

My motivation for relationally walking across the room towards these people in my life started from inspiration. Months ago I offered myself to the Lord, to be used to shine a light in their lives. Somewhere along the way, I think I had selfishly hoped that they’d maybe take an interest in me, too. I learned this week that that hope was too great of an expectation.

They say presence is a present and I tried to gift that by not being on my phone, by being available to the moment. Sitting in uncomfortable silence to my unreturned questions for the group was good for me. Trying to share my thoughts they couldn’t connect with or witty jokes they didn’t get was humbling. Managing the tension between being quiet and putting myself out there was worth practicing.

For fear of exaggeration, I’ll say that I do not recall being asked one intentional question about myself, though they may have. Real conversational connection in a digital age is challenging. Games and activities are either a gateway to them or a poor substitute for them. I experienced the latter. But I do think I tried to meet people where they were at this week. It was all I could do.

I gave of myself by purposely participating. I continued to ask the Lord to give me more of his love to reflect and extend. And if I was given a redo, I’d do it all again. My proximity to those who do not believe or practice their belief is under God’s sovereignty now. The quiet prayers they didn’t know I was praying each day was energy well spent.

By the end of the week, my human flesh was flailing. I know I was getting easily offended by things and paid too much attention to what didn’t come to fruition. Exhaustion and unmet expectations aren’t a healthy mix. I went to bed last night grieving the thought that if life circumstances hadn’t brought us together, I wouldn’t want to be friends with the people I spent the week with. And they wouldn’t choose me either. In a backwards way, naming reality helped me get to sleep.

Today though, I woke up with new thoughts. Better thoughts.

Jesus takes delight when I place all of my expectations on him. The cross proves to me over and over again that he can handle it. When I ask him, he helps me hold my hopes for my days loosely. It takes incredible practice and honestly, I’m weary too often of how well I can trust him with my relationships. But I won’t stop learning. And as I was getting ready in the mirror this morning, I sensed him saying,

“Natalie, I AM your greatest expectation. My will for you will never disappoint. You can place all your hopes in me.”

So that’s what I’m clinging to: great expectations for Jesus to keep revealing who he is to me. May you and I expect the best from time spent with him.

Take care & take heart.
With high hopes,