This is the first post in a series on our inadequacy. Read the others here.
“Hi, I’m Greg, and I am inadequate.”
We all want to be seen as people who have it together. We set goals and meet them, surpass them even. We use every spare scrap of time to be incredibly productive and we enjoy every second of it. That’s the kind of people we want to be and, because of that, often how we present ourselves to the world.
Working hard is good. Being productive is good. Surpassing goals is good. But why do we care so much to be seen this way? Maybe you don’t care that much about it, but I bet at least part of you does. I know I do. I want to be seen as knowledgeable, helpful, someone who works hard and does amazing things. Why do I care about this so much? Continue reading
We haven’t lived in Manchester long enough yet for it to feel like home and sometimes it feels like we are living “somewhere else”. We are in between home and somewhere else. Some days are hard, some more than others. For us, this is just a reality that we live in at the moment. It can be hard to live in a place full of reminders that this isn’t your home, a place that feels like somewhere else. Hopefully as time goes on and we grow in our connections to people here it will feel more like a home.
I was struck that day, as I have often been since, of my own insignificance. I passed hundreds, probably thousands, of people. Buses full of people. Cars struggling through the city traffic. People on the street hurrying to their next destination. All of these people could care less about me. I’m nothing important, especially to them. As the taller buildings in the centre loomed overhead I realised in a new way how insignificant I truly am. 
These normal rhythms of familial celebrations will 
Today is my birthday. A birthday is a significant marker in time and its significance is not lost on me. I get a little reflective when this day rolls around, ranging from excitement to sadness, from joy to shame. I suppose that’s typical for most people. My main thought of late has been, “I’ve had 33 years, and this is how far I’ve come? This is what I’ve done with my life?” Surely I should be farther along. But I’m not. And I think I’m OK with that. I’ve tried to be obedient to the days and years my Father has given me. Mostly. Well, maybe mostly. And I believe that I’ve been following where He’s told me to go. But some places He’s brought me haven’t been very enjoyable or productive. There’s nothing to show but the scars and marks of trudging through a deep valley. And even then, often I’m the only one who sees those.