Expectations

Expectations can be very dangerous.

It seems strange to say because we all have them, about everything. But I'm discovering just how much of my life has been defined by unfounded expectations lately, and it's sobering.

I always look forward to mom and dad's trips, not because I like having them gone (although they always pretend to think that), but because in the silence that follows, anything I'm not really at peace with comes to the surface pretty quickly. I have whole days during which God is basically the only person I talk to, and He always seems to have something important to say.

Over the last few days, He's been showing me how unfounded expectations lie at the root of all of the points of frustration or disappointment in my life right now, every single one. And the truth is, it's just no way to live.

You can't be disappointed in people or relationships because they aren't becoming what you had hoped they might become.

You can't be frustrated or restless with the circumstances of your life because they don't look like you had imagined they would by now.

It isn't fair to read into the words of the people around you, and then be surprised when it turns out they actually just meant what they said.

I've had several conversations with Jordan about the important difference between expectation and expectancy, but the truth is I'm an idiot when it comes to this important truth. I don't know why, but it's damned near impossible for my mind and heart not to run with all the little moments of life and spin them into a story that seems real. But, I think I'm learning to tune in more quickly, to adjust back to reality more easily, which I am very grateful for.

I'm starting to think of expectancy and expectation as two children watching their fathers paint them each a mural. The first one waits excitedly, bouncing around and laughing as each new detail is revealed. The second one picks up its own brush and tries to sneak in its own lines and colors, tries to change the shapes that emerge to suit its own little-kid preferences, and then throws tantrums when its little squiggles get calmly painted over.

Its ultimately a futile and frustrating way to live, and it spoils the simple enjoyment of watching a masterpiece unfold on its own.

I'm sorry if I've tried to repaint you lately.