I Have No Idea What I'm Doing!!

Here’s a little tip for observing the life of Steph: I put on a pretty good show, but I have no idea what I’m doing.

I attribute the ‘pretty good show’ to my years of conducting marching band. Trust me, when you’re younger than half the band and a GIRL and in charge of 300 people on a football field and two MALE podium conductors, there’s really no room to have a nervous breakdown. Or even indicate for a second on your face that you’d like to. Because it’s game over once you do that.

I didn’t know how to be the podium conductor for a university marching band. But I figured it out real quick-like, and the ‘pretty good show’ gave me some time to do that. By the end of it, it wasn’t a show. I was actually pretty good at it.

I’ve learned recently that I pretty much apply this technique to almost everything in my life.

My first day on the job at WFPL? Oh yeah, of COURSE I know everything about the Ohio River Bridges Project, no problem! (secret panic attack and the knowledge I’m probably about to be fired and have to live in a box down by the proposed site of the Ohio River Bridges Project)*

Did I have any idea how to lead a Bible study? Nope! How to plan a wedding? Uh, yeah right. But, hey, I’ve done those things, I know a little about them know. And for the most part, the ‘pretty good show’ remained in tact. Most people saw a clearly composed Steph, who didn’t blink at adversity.

That’s all over now. There is no way I can fake my way through knowing how to be pregnant, how to deliver a baby, and how to take care of that baby. I tried. I can’t do it. I cried a gazillion tears last night, not realizing why, and I think this is it. I have no idea what I’m doing.

I use the façade as a crutch. To hold me up.

Another crutch? Overwhelming myself with information.

When I was conducting, I would memorize the entire score of the entire ten minute show. Every line of music, every staccato, every tempo marking, every crescendo, every bar number: memorized. And not only the music, I knew all the drumline music and I knew every drill chart. I meticulously notated changes made during practice and committed them to memory that night, before I went to sleep.

So when I saw there were free classes offered at our hospital on things like labor and delivery and breastfeeding and baby care, oh yeah, we were signed up for those like lightning. Was it enough? Nope. We’re also signed up for fourteen weeks of childbirth classes. I’ve got two books I’m reading and I’m meeting with someone next week who’ll probably give me a couple more.

Let me be clear, I don’t think any of this preparation is bad. But it’s a bad crutch.

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Last night, when my head was throbbing from all the tears and I just wanted to sleep to get away from it, when I lifted my swollen eyes to my husband’s concerned eyes, he said “The Lord is in control of this…”

I was too tired at the moment. But now it’s hitting me like a ton of baby bibs: the ol’ sin problem rears its head again. THAT one. The big one. The one that has caused me to stumble and struggle and not seek His face over and over and over.

I get security from thinking (thinking.) I’m in control of my life.

I get sinful security from thinking I’m in control of my life.

I get false security from thinking I’m in control of my life.

I freak out when I realize I’m not in control of my life.

I fight it fight it fight it fight it. Break. Listen.

Holy Spirit does it’s thing. I pray pray pray pray.

I get real security from knowing (knowing.) I’m not in control of my life.

I get true security from knowing He’s in control of my life.

In control of marching band.

In control of Bible study.

In control of marriage.

In control of babies.

Breathe.

*(that’s not true, we all know I would’ve lived with mom and dad)