Why do I always save this for 2 am? Why.
The other night I was ranting to my sister.
Last week they had to talk to me at work, and assigned me a captain to ‘get me better trained” and “up to speed,” because the manager, Brian, had given them instruction to do so, most likely because someone had talked to him about me.
7 months. I’ve been working here 7 freaking months, and I need training. It’s just a job, sure, but there’s just something about failing at going into mission, being away from all your family, friends and church, not knowing what to do with your life, and then your work. Work. 7 months, and I still don’t have it. A lot of it had to do with poor training to begin with, but then there was a part of me that knew without a doubt it was also just me. 100% Lucy, and it wasn’t enough, and it got to me. Deep. As I found myself making even more mistakes that night, I nearly started crying. I just didn’t know what to do.
And oh my word I found myself getting so frustrated with myself, and I started thinking of a story shared with my coworker, Shane. At my last job, when I lived in Cannon Beach, I had dropped someone’s debit card into the gap of the counter, and the customer was vacationing and planned to return to Canada the next day, so getting it out wasn’t an option. My boss had to bring a buzz saw and literally cut the counter away to get the card. Shane said they must’ve not wanted me to come back, and I told him no, they did. In fact, they’d hire me again on the spot if I wanted my waitressing job back. I was good at my job. When I walked in the door they felt relieved because they know I knew what I was doing. I was competent.
And every single day as I walked to work, I would pray and ask God to make a servant. To make me useful and a blessing, and to watch over me at work. Every. Day. And I haven’t been doing that at all lately, and It as just overwhelmingly frustrating that I can’t do a simple thing like go to my job without praying first. I mean, I fail at everything unless I bring it to the Lord. I can’t do it on my own, and I wanted to scream for struggling with such simple things. I know I asked God to make me a prayer warrior, but it totally and completely sucks to feel so useless.
That’s when my sister began to laugh. “I do it myself!” she said.
In my house that phrase is synonymous with my 3 year old self. It was my mantra through physical therapy and rehabilitation.
I do it myself.
Alright God. I get it.
Lord, you are far to good to me. Thank you. Please help me. I need it.
This maturing thing never seems to get any easier.