Have you heard of a compliment sandwich? It’s a communication technique for delivering criticism in a somewhat constructive way. In an attempt to soften the blow, the criticism is sandwiched between two affirmations. Like bologna between two slices of Wonder bread. Hypothetically, if you were intimately acquainted with my calendar you could compliment sandwich me like this, “I love your enthusiasm and your heart to please people and make everyone happy! But you are exhausted and all of us watching you are exhausted as well. You are such a high-functioning optimist!”
I like to think I have a visionary gift paired with an optimistic spirit that enables me to see life’s challenges and think I can help fix, care for, or solve anything that needs fixed, cared for, or solved. I’m not sure that my husband would be so generous with that description. He’s an engineer and likes to make things efficient—including my literary prowess. So he would perhaps summarize me by saying, “She can’t say ‘no.”’
This “high-functioning optimism” has, on many occasions, left me drowning in “yesses” on my calendar and scrapping for sleep anywhere I can get it. There was literally a Sunday at church a few years ago where in a matter of minutes I said yes to four different opportunities to serve. My husband was not impressed when I told him triumphantly that I had in fact declined organizing the summer barbeques for the church. I was proud I said no to something. He was not amused.
There are also distinct patterns in my life. When I am hurt or those around me hurt, I kick into high gear. I am a fixer, a doer, a get-things-done-er. I dive head first into the safety of saying yes to activities as an alternative to dealing with my hurting heart. I fill my life with a beautiful list of to-do’s and, though I’m not always aware of it, try to hide my pain and shame in a pile of “good things.”
There are many examples but the most recent is this past year. As in the entire cumulative year is an example. Coming out of what seemed like a relational wilderness, I said yes to about a million things. All good things but the key word here is “million.” In two months time, I said yes to starting a ministry for tween girls, yes to tutoring children in our homeschool program, yes to ranch-sitting for my dad, yes to 3 weeks out of town for time with extended family, yes to putting on a mother/daughter retreat for 60 moms and daughters, yes to speaking at a women’s retreat, yes, yes, yes…
I don’t give you this list so you can see what I have done but because I want you to see how I was trying to out maneuver hurt by hiding behind yesses. In the middle of last summer, I became overwhelmed with all that was on my plate and realized I was exhausted from all I had already done. And it was only July. With lesson plans, curriculum decisions, tutor prep, retreat planning and teaching ahead of me, the bubble burst and my exhilarated manic high with hopes to change the world fell hard and fast. I didn’t even want to get out of bed.
God graciously plopped Present Over Perfect: Leaving Behind Frantic for a Simpler, More Soulful Way of Living in my lap. We had planned a family vacation that August and my plan was to read it while sunning my toes on the beach at the family cabin but I devoured it through tears in an evening. Brene Brown wrote the forward for Present Over Perfect so I ordered three of her books to read while we were away. I realized I was deep in the trenches of a breakdown and needed to stop and reset before I lost myself altogether. I’d said yes to seemingly good things all to cover my shame, to hide my breaking vulnerable heart and to cling white-knuckled to any semblance of relational control I could. While I read, God showed me how I’d made all these decisions to do “good” things out of a desire for relationship, with the hope for friendship, community and depth of relationship. Not because God was actually calling me to do “all the things” for all the people. In fact, I laughed until I cried when I realized I’d started a girls group to teach tween girls how to love God, love others and press into relationships and yet I wasn’t doing any of those things well in my own life.
As Kierkegaard wrote, “Irony is a disciplinarian feared only by those who do not know it, but cherished by those who do.” I think it hurt to badly to cherish it at the time but I’m so grateful for God’s grace amidst the irony of the mess I’d committed to. There I sat exhausted, broken, knowing I couldn’t go back but not knowing how I could possibly go forward. I thank God I have Joel to walk this out with. We sat and in the most candid sob-evoking conversation, we talked through everything I had said yes to in the months to come and came up with a plan. Most of that plan involved pressing hard into God, trusting Him as I needed to finish what I’d started, but slowly, squeaking out the words “I’m so sorry, I just can’t…I have to say no.”
This new discipline of only saying no is hard. So much harder than I thought it would be. I’ve battled self-inflicted guilt and shame each time I have to tell someone I care about no. I’ve carried fear for relationships each time I haven’t been able to jump in to help or do more than I’ve already committed to doing. I’ve felt the sharp sting of relationships that seemingly disappear once I say no.
It has been painful. And it has been healing.
There are literally millions of good things to say yes to in this world. Righteous causes, hurting people, mouths to feed. But when we say yes to too many of them, we get so busy in the doing we forget to embrace all that is right in front of us. We often forget who we are called to be and how we got started in the first place. When we pour ourselves out and don’t stop to refuel and rest, or when we aren’t discerning in all that we commit to, our purpose can cloud, resolve weaken, and all that good we’re doing can become the enemy of our best.
The need we see around us can be overwhelming. Heck, the need right in front of us can be overwhelming. Being poured out in love is a picture of the One who poured Himself out for us but friends, we can’t pour out indefinitely without being filled. We can get so lost in the working, loving, serving and nose-wiping, that we’re spinning around like dust devils, never grounded in Who we’re pouring ourselves out for.
There are times to say yes. Many of them. Sometimes we do need the convicting prod of reflection to boost us beyond Netflix and help us take an honest look at how we’re investing our time and treasures. And other days, we need to rest in the freedom God has given to just be His. Resting in Him and being poured out in love are two beautiful things that appear to be at odds with one another but in reality, when we are resting in Christ and his finished work and we are taking time to restore our bodies and souls, we actually have more to give when its needed.
It’s ok to say yes to good things but don’t be afraid to take a prayerful breath and whisper “no.” It may be one of the most life-giving words you can say.