I hate being late. That’s why I married a drag racer at age 20. I usually show up fifteen minutes early with a well-deserved speeding ticket and an invisible trophy from my imaginary friend who I like to call “Put Together and Prompt.”
That said, at three days into the New Year, in Loriland, this article is extremely late. This time, my lateness is purposeful. I believe it actually reveals something about what God has been doing in me over the past year.
As many do, I like to recollect my thoughts, evaluate my life, and process what I have learned and where I’m heading at year’s end. I usually start summing up the day after Christmas. By the time my tree is down, my time is up – if I want the trophy that is.
This year was different, though. This year was exceptionally deft. It was also unusually difficult. It taught me – a recovering intuitionist – to slow down.
Oh, by the way, if you don’t read me often, I also make up words. That’s what creative writers do when there aren’t adequate describing tools. Don’t worry, though, we usually also define them.
Intuitionist – a person who trusts intuition and instincts to a fault and frequently inserts both feet into her mouth.
Being intuitive is not bad. If you’re a single woman or a witch hunter, it’s likely highly beneficial. The problem is that intuition is likely responsible for creating both the Mr. Perfect illusion who keeps single women perpetually single and the Salem witch hunts where innocent people were mistakenly murdered. The truth is that fear, past experiences, and personal insecurity can easily be mistaken for the highly regarded, supposedly fool-proof test known as intuition.
Enter: pseudointuition. (Yes, I made that one up, too.)
Pseudointuition is very dangerous for those of us who like to think of ourselves as naturally intuitive. It causes us to conjure up flawed hypothesis, enter into premature judgments, and jump to hasty conclusions about many matters. Without adequate prayer and fasting, pseudointuition will destroy true discernment and leave us paranoid, cynical, and thoroughly untrusting – just like single women and Salem witch hunters.
Like I said, though, I am recovering. I am learning. I am slowing down in a good way. I no longer say everything that I initially think. I am avoiding any reliance on first impressions. I am refraining from dismissing that which I cannot put under an interrogation lamp, study intricately, and dissect until it stops moving – yet. I am learning to wait upon the Lord – longer. I am beginning to hide my face like Elijah and pray five, six, even seven times for the tiny rain cloud that I must believe will annihilate every desert and doubt surrounding. Even when every weather man insists that there will be no rain for many more days, I resolve to keep on believing for the very best. I resolve to put down the pride that prods me to pounce when people and places seem particularly peculiar to me. I still have my wings. I’m just not sure how often the Lord really wants me to fly. I think, maybe, he gave them so I might spread them to protect far more often than I project.
Bottom line: Life is not an algebraic equation. A + B does not always equal C. If anything, life is more like geometry – you’ve got to be able to prove how and why the pieces fit together before you really find a concrete solution. If you cannot, you are probably suffering from a bad case of pseudointuition with the underlying etiology of fear, bad past experience, and personal insecurity. Life really isn’t like math anyway – despite how desperately I need it to be. I think it is more like creative writing – there are too many words to ever comprehend them all but never enough of the right ones.
That is why my New Year’s recollections are, according to the schedule of a neurotic race runner, late. My goal for 2014 is not to be less intuitive or timely, but to be more patient, prayerful, and, God help me, precise before I act, write, or speak.
Happy New Year!
Whoever trusts in his own mind is a fool,
but he who walks in wisdom will be delivered. ~Proverbs 28:26