WE INTERRUPT MY VACATION TO BRING YOU A SHORT DISSERTATION ON … CONFIDENCE . . .

Listening to a friend talk about some of his many fields of expertise the other night, it occurred to me very strongly and woundingly: I place waaaaay too much of the weight and significance of my identity in the confidence (or sometimes the lack of confidence) in my own intelligence, and I am waaaaaay too emotionally tied to what people think (or what I think that people think) of my intellectual capabilities.

He was talking about literary theory, linguistics, philosophy, hermeneutics, psychiatry. All areas in which I have little or no knowledge or expertise, or even exposure, but all areas in which I have great interest. If I could, I'd go back to school to study all of these things (and more) at length. Given my current situation and understanding of the reality of my current circumstances, I must instead settle for reading whatever I can and hearing whatever I can about these subjects from less direct sources.

I expressed my continued interest -- piqued and encouraged even more after my friend's long verbal dissertation(s), actually -- and received in response what was meant to be a kind and supportive statement, something akin to: "I don't mean to question your intelligence at all, but some of this stuff might be a bit much to simply read about, without devoting years and years of study to the background and history and classic languages that preceded it." This was and remains obvious to me. Of course I just can't KNOW literary theory after reading just one or two books about it. Of course I just can't KNOW linguistics or hermeneutics after reading a primer on them. I KNOW this. But the kindly and true statement took my piqued interest and growing excitement about learning something new, and deflated the big balloons both had become. It took along with it the big fat head that had grown from the roots of my own ego and belief -- exaggerated or not -- in the strength and competence of my own intellect.

I don't really think that I can read one book on a subject and be rendered conversant in it with someone who has made the subject his life's work. I promise I don't think that. But I guess a very large and unconfessed part of me did defensively think this: "Well, you don't have to point the obvious out to me." I felt so discouraged. I felt so questioned. I felt he condescended to me. I felt like MY expertise and MY experience were so paltry, insignificant and unimportant compared to the wide, grand, unintelligible world (at least to the average-minded such as myself) that had been explored and conquered by my comparatively-highly intelligent friend, he who had spoken kindly and innocently and knew none of the things roiling through my thoughts. I felt like he had taken the seed of something that I believed I could accomplish with a certain degree of integrity and respectability, and had tossed it into the wind. I felt he didn't believe in me. I felt utterly and humiliatingly stupid, as if I hadn’t been educated and groomed in one of the best high schools in the country, as if I hadn’t graduated from an Ivy League college, as if I hadn’t earned a law degree from a top-tier law school, as if I hadn’t acquired a variety of skills honed by years and diverse experiences and hardships and incredibly talented and smart colleagues, as if I hadn’t been raised by brilliant parents who placed a premium on learning and education and knowledge and street- and book-smarts.

I know none of these feelings are true or real, at least not in the source that I would impose upon them. I KNOW THIS. I KNOW -- in my head -- how my friend views me and how he thinks positively of me. Still ... my heart twinges and my indignation rises and I react poorly to being told, in essence, what I can and can't do, what I can and can't handle. I so wanted, in that instant, to say, "I can handle it," or worse, "Don't you tell me I can't understand this stuff; you don’t know." That would have been horrible and wrong and so, so childish. But that's me: a thirty-year old child, I guess. And the thing is, I understand … he did know, which is why he said what he said.

I'm over the comment; I really am. What I'm not yet over is the understanding of myself: the harsh realization that I place my self-worth and root my confidence not in Christ, not in the way that God created me, not in the way that He moves in my life and reigns sovereignly and lovingly over my life, not in the fact that He delights and sings over and because of me, and not even in the truth that whatever I know and whatever I am capable of is because of His grace and His provision ... but in my own miniscule capabilities, in my own meager intelligence (be that as it may), and in other people's perceptions of me, positive or negative. I wish and pray that I could and would be grateful, humbly and deeply grateful, for the intellect, the education, the knowledge, the skills that I have been given and have been able to hone, by the grace and providence of God alone. And then have done with it. Use what I am and what I have for His glory, and just let it be. And not always wish for what the other guy has -- his intelligence, his expertise, his background, his knowledge, and most of all, his esteem for me. I wish I could let go of this false reliance on my intelligence and my intellectual abilities, and rely on true things instead. I wish I had the heart and will to defend my faith and my God as fervently and feverishly and passionately as I would jump to defend my brain power.

(Psssst. I’m going to read those books and primers anyway. Not because I’m going to, or even want to, become an expert in linguistics or literary theory or post-modern philosophy. And not even for the purpose of entering into another conversation with my friend about these things, although that would not be unwelcome. It’s just interesting to me, is all, and since I know I can at least read words and understand them … I just might as well.)