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Find New Life: Perfectionism vs. Restraint

Blog / Produced by The High Calling
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It began with an estimate for concrete. Our century-old home sits cozily between neighbors, and we wanted to clean up the side access to the backyard. Improvements would address hospitality as much as visual appeal (both important since guests frequently use this entrance). Large cracks made us want to make it safer, too. By hiring a mason to replace the walkway and steps, I could solve a problem and also maintain balance during my sabbatical.

That was the plan. It was not exactly the result. Somehow this small delegation morphed into an obsessive commitment to an unmanageable to-do list. I would suffer but gain important insights along the way.

No Time Becomes Go-Time

After a year of feeling alternately lost and overwhelmed at work, I admitted to a midlife crisis and received 12 weeks of restoration. I had been stretched enough that I hadn't the time even to coordinate a contract for the steps. Now I was ready.

The mason said I could save $250 if I broke the old concrete for him. Why not? I thought. Wasn’t it yesterday I heard another neuroscientist promoting atypical activities to stimulate brains in a rut (like mine)? And I’d get a mean workout to boot! I also calculated that if I laid pavers instead of buying a straight walkway, I'd not only save more but get to add character and an aesthetic complement to other work I had previously done.

Excitement was growing. So were the to-dos. I checked the property deed, sketched a design, consulted the neighbor, then jumped in.

The sledgehammer had barely threatened a blister when I looked at the gate that leaned near the steps. I knew it should be rehung before laying the new path. Swinging away, I pondered further: Rust on the edges, on the hinges, too. They need to be scraped and painted.

And if I'm going to fix the gate, I should replace the chicken-wire attached to it. Vinyl? Wood? Maybe an alternative my wife likes on Pinterest that I can build myself?

Why not? I repeated. I hold a sledge hammer. I am man.

More swinging, more thinking. Landscaping! Yes, I’ll remove this tangle of plants. I bet I can transfer some of them. I need to research what thrives in this space. And what about the broken lamp post here? Its wires run under the proposed paver route. I’ll have to tackle that first.

Every break over the coming days focused on research, conversations, window shopping, and more design, all of which became long errand runs for paint, tools, fencing materials, shrubbery, fertilizer, electrical supplies, mulch, and more.

Three steps by a mason was easy. An overhaul by yours truly was not. My idealistic self had launched with visions of renewal. My perfectionist would double the time estimated to finish.

The midlife me would pay for it all.

I Need a Break from My Break

Sabbaticals hold great potential for finding new life. In my case, physical labor offered contrast to my day job, out-of-office e-minders kept distractions at bay, and a beautiful September lured me outside. But within a week, inspiration became drive; within two weeks, obsession. Several marathon days reaching 15 hours sounded an alarm.

I tried to slow down. But I caught myself again on a Sunday afternoon—my Sabbath. I just needed an hour to prepare for a storm. When the rain delayed, however, I continued: returning tools, stacking materials, moving piles of dirt. It was deciding to remove another fence post that finally stopped me. Poised to extract its concrete anchor from the earth, a word appeared: restraint.

In 24/6, Matthew Sleeth writes, "God doesn’t need to rest after creating the universe because he’s tired … He has restraint. Restraint is refraining from doing everything that one has the power to do" (32-33). Here I stood with my foot on the shovel and zero interest in following God’s lead.

Drive had pushed me past meals, bedtimes, patience, and now the 6-day work week. I added Tums to the shopping list. Every potential seed had been exchanged for overgrowth from my old life. It took less than three weeks to fill the open spaces I so needed for discernment and rest.

I turned toward the house, frustrated, and placed the shovel in the corner. Then I went for a run.

New Paths

It's uncanny how God chases us down. Rain started immediately, and for most of the five miles, it poured, washing away sweat from my skin and noises from my head. A trailside cemetery made me pray about the old that I’m dying to root out and the new that I want to cultivate.

While the side access improves better than expected, other sirens tempt me, like leaks in the shed roof and peeled finish on the porch—items that appear straightforward to the idealist. The perfectionist, however, knows that complications and time lurk beneath their surfaces.

I’m trying to be the realist who balances the two.

Jesus invited me to watch my sabbatical become the clutter I was trying to escape. As a result, what eluded at work became unmistakably visible in the yard.

I value this grace. And I believe the sabbatical has other graces like it to offer. I just might need more Tums to discover them.

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Find New Life

Feeling lost? God invites you to inhabit new life. Wherever you find yourself on the journey, God is always calling us to something even more. The Bible reassures us that God is doing a new thing (Isa. 43:19), and yet we sometimes pass over the new thing in search of the next thing. But what if what God has for you is in the letting go of what you know and what you've already done? To find life, we must first lose it (Matt. 10:39). But what does that mean, really? Join us for this series, Find New Life. Together, let's find our footing. Let's embrace the new thing God has for each of us.

Featured image by Roger Gordon. Used with Permission. Source via Flickr.

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