I went home and cried after hotpot

It was a hotpot party at my church sister’s house. About 20 of us gathered and it was a wonderful time of food and fellowship.

Then came the time to clean up, which always got me both eager and nervous. Eager to not be useless, nervous about finding opportunities to not be useless.

I went straight to the kitchen before anyone did, hoping to tackle what I was good and comfortable at—washing the dishes. After soaping up one cup and some chopsticks, I was told that we could leave the dishes to her helper. Reluctantly, I left my post and returned to the living room to see how I could help.

By this time, everyone was occupied—wiping the table, clearing the remaining soup from the pots, sweeping the floor. I stood around awkwardly, not finding a single window of opportunity to render assistance. No one noticed me either, they were engrossed in their cleaning while continuing to fellowship with others who were engaged in the same task.

What made things worse was a friend later took over the washing of the dishes from the helper! I felt trapped on the threshold of almost being able to help and shamefully not being able to.

It took an excruciatingly long time—in my opinion, as guilt, embarrassment, and a chaotic mixture of other unwelcome emotions rose within me—for the clean-up to be done. When everyone finally began to retire to the couch to rest and lounge around, I quietly announced to the host that I was going to leave and shuffled towards the door.

For the entire bus ride home, intense emotions churned within me. And while I was already beginning to talk to God about them, the rate of tormenting churning was far greater than the rate of me releasing them to God.

The moment I got home, I took a quick shower then closed my door and broke down in my Heavenly Father’s presence. I told Him how useless and ashamed I felt at my lack of contribution. I told Him how confused and embarrassed I felt at my excessive internal reaction to something so ‘small’ as cleaning up after hotpot. I told Him how guilty I felt at tarnishing my parents’ reputation of upbringing when they only taught me the best. 

Looking back, these thoughts were indeed extreme and disproportionate to what actually happened. Fear of man played a big part, though I am almost 100% certain none of my friends even noticed or thought anything negative about me. Such is the enigma of the human psyche in a fallen world.

I resolved those feelings with God that night, pleading with Him to transform me to be a better person.

A few other incidents triggered in me the same feeling of uselessness, though not as severe a reaction as the hotpot incident.

One was when we first started our neighbourhood reading programme with underprivileged children. Most of my friends have some experience working with kids—they were either early childhood educators or had served in Sunday school previously. I had zero experience teaching and interacting with kids, and had no clue about classroom management either.

As I walked home from that first session, I reflected on how passive I was, not knowing how to act or react but letting my friends take the lead throughout. I told God I felt useless again, but this time I also told Him what I knew from His way of working: God, You probably won’t give me anything ‘useful’ to do until I can separate my worth and identity from it.

God cares too much about my true identity to grant me situational feel-good moments that take me in the opposite direction from truth. 

Revelation while writing this: It’s easier to build an identity on sand. After all, it’s mouldable and takes the shape of whatever base you lay upon it. You can shape it to suit your whims and fancy—pressing down on it, poking into it, clearing space in it. To build upon the solid rock of truth is to mould your base to its unyielding surface—YOU bend, YOU deform, YOU change. It’s a process that involves discomfort. But at the end of the day, that’s the only foundation that stands in the storm.

Sometime later while worshipping, God showed me a vision. He handed me a flower and asked me if I would call it ‘useful’. I replied, “Not really, but I would say it serves its beautiful purpose.”

It’s the same with me. Serving my purpose doesn’t mean I have to be ‘useful’ all the time, in the sense of DOING and helping. Purpose and identity are multi-faceted. Sometimes I serve my purpose by simply BEING—living out my identity as a child of God, reflecting His grace and glory in my transformed life. Sometimes God leads me to express it through tangible, helpful actions. So whether it’s cleaning up after hotpot or reading with kids, I now know I’m not expected to perform to meet any ‘utility’ standard. 

This #UNRELATABLE struggle will still feel more real on some days than others. But the reality that grounds me is God’s measurement of me—not by works, but the perfect righteousness of Jesus who redeemed me for a relationship and future with Him.

I find this...

• 0%#Relatable
• 0%#Unrelatable