I can't write.
That is the lie I hear, and start to believe, every single time I even begin to remotely think about my English class. This class is tough. It's hard. I have written and revised and written and edited and turned in and then re- written, re-revised, re-edited and re-turned in.
I write a rough draft.
We workshop one another's drafts in class.
We discuss in class what the professor is looking for. She looks at our previous papers and tells us what to fix in this next one.
I realize my rough draft is altogether awful and needs more details, stronger points, etc.
I re-do the entire thing.
I edit that draft, still keeping in mind all the corrections from all of my papers.
Then I turn it in.
Then I get it back.
It's chocked full of negative hot pink marks and comments. (yes. hot pink. not red, not blue, not anything any other professor would grade in)
Our entire class does poorly, so we get the chance to edit the papers..while simultaneously going through the same vicious cycle with yet another paper.
I have pushed myself. I don't do the papers the night before. I try to take the correction well. I have talked to the professor. I have done everything I can possibly think of to write a paper that is at least satisfactory.
This seems silly and insignificant. Why am I complaining about one class? Why does it bother me so much? Is that what you are thinking?
This is a whole new struggle for me. Never ever, not once, have I gotten less than a A on anything I have written.Nothing. But now, I feel like no matter what I do, I cannot write. I cannot please the professor.
"You can't write, Taylor"
"This class isn't worth it"
"You can't improve."
"You aren't smart enough to be in honors composition."
"Everyone else is better"
"You can't please this professor."
"You are going to fail."
"Why can't you just follow the instructions?!"
The whispers of lies go on and on and on.
But, as I sat here about to type this blog, I looked down at that nail ring on my finger. Again I heard:
" Oh, my soul, it is enough that the Father loves you."
"Your value is not determined by what you can or cannot do"
"This class will grow you."
"You can always improve."
"I made you. You are good enough"
" Perfect grades aren't the most important thing."
That is Truth. not the other stuff. Yes, this class is hard. It's frustrating. Yes, my best is seemingly not good enough. But, my identity isn't found in my English grade. My identity isn't found in how well I can argue about a dorm room, a political ad, television in the classroom, or the movie Avatar. No part of this class determines who I am. Because I am created fearfully and wonderfully, my talents, abilities, and skills are all exactly how God wants them. Everything that touches my life first passes through His sovereign hand. SO there MUST be a reason I am in this class. There must be a reason my class has only 9 people. There must be a reason I have this professor. There must be a reason for everything. If everything has first passed through my Father's hand, then He knows where I am with this. If he put me in this class, He has a reason. Everything works for His glory and my good. everything. I cannot forget that. I can't forget that, like the verse I sent this morning says, I am more than a conqueror.
You are too. Whatever that thing is for you, whatever is the center of the lies and insecurity and worry and fear and doubt and whatever else, whatever is your English class, you are more than a conqueror. Your identity is not found in what you do. It is found in Whose you are. Everything, absolutely everything that touches your life has first passed through your Father's sovereign hand. Don't forget it.
Jesus, you know my heart. You know I am frustrated and a perfectionist and scared and sad and insecure and whatever else. You know the lies I'm believing. Help me believe Your Truth. Remind me that this class does not define who I am because of WHOSE I am. Help me work as if I'm working for you, not for man. Help me, Jesus.