Missing Out

There are two ways I tend to wage inner war on myself: intellectually (read "emotionally") and spiritually.  One particular area in which both ways of battle have been most constant and consistent for as long as I can remember is in the idea of "missing out." I don't need to fit in, I don't mind being strange, but heaven forbid I lose out on something radical.  I am, in so very many ways, a middle child to the Nth degree.  Whole stages of my life were set and experienced purely due to my belief that other people were experiencing something without me.  Eventually, that idea gave birth to my current, ridiculous habit of people pleasing.  If people like you and you tend to make them happy, you stand a better chance at inclusion, you feel me?  But there is also a growing spiritual component that is totally cool with not even knowing what everyone else is doing.  Her eyes are set on the prize of eternity with her Savior, end story.  After all, what can be gained on Earth that won't be a thousand times better in Heaven? She's focused on two things: bringing God glory and building eternal relationships. That doesn't leave much room for feeling left out.

Anyway, this ill-begotten habit is obviously the root of most of my double sided battlefields.  Mind v. Spirit.  "I don't mind" v. "Do You want this for my life, God?"

Everything, from the most recent family event I missed, to the prospect of missing out on the future of the mission to this indigenous people group that I am with now, gives rise to the two camps within me.  It isn't a new struggle.  You know what they say, though, "Old habits die the hardest."  So if the struggle is so familiar to me, why am I only just writing about it today?  Let me sum it up.

Around 4 a.m. my phone lit up with messages. It usually refuses to send or receive MMS, but Bruce had accepted a video message from my mom.  She spent this last weekend with my Dad and some of my younger siblings at our Hansen family reunion.  The video in question was a beautiful version of "Blessed Assurance" sung a cappela with the entire family.  Once the song ended, I had a choice.  Emotionally, I could wallow in self pity due to a purely incidental exclusion because I'm half way across the planet (BY CHOICE, mind you).  Spiritually, I could praise God for the gift of song and go into the day with joy in my heart.  

The choice is ridiculously obvious.  It isn't really a choice at all.  But I still have to make the conscious decision to praise and be filled with joy, because this middle child is prone to wallow. I know it. God knows it. Mom knows it. And there's really nothing for it.