What are you looking for?

It’s become legend in my family–the night I went to see Hedda Gabler at my university as a freshman.

Somewhere in Act II, I think, my friend Paul came on stage wearing a painted-on black eye.  And that’s when I promptly began to feel lightheaded. I was thinking, Janel. It’s makeup. 

But try telling my body that. I had to leave the theater, sitting on the steps outside until I didn’t feel like fainting dead away. True story.

(I missed the rest of the play.)

Not enough: When the scrolling marquee of your life is not “Wow!”

Maybe you’d call it a strength, or maybe you’d call it a weakness. I firmly believe it’s both. But the volume of others in my ears, in my internal being, has always felt turned up abnormally high.

That visceral empathy allows me tremendous compassion, part of which propelled my family and me to Africa. The same compassion and the deep feels make me a better writer, a passionate worship leader (even though watching a video of me singing a couple of weeks ago, with all that emotion out in the open, made me want to evaporate into thin air).

But it also means it’s hard for me to turn down the volume of others’ voices in my mind, even when I’m alone. I am people-pleasing at a disgusting level.

I’m the mom of four teenagers and in carrying some other roles. Let’s just say the prevailing message of those voices is currently not Girl, you’re killin’ it!  

Last night my overly-feeling self leaked out some more tears.

So often, I just feel not enough.

When your opponent is vastly superior

But this morning, I was revisiting Psalm 18. It’s crazy-saturated with images of strength, protection, battle, and force:

I love you, O Lord, my strength.
The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,
my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
I call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised,
and I am saved from my enemies. (vv. 1-3)

The only word I get stuck on there is “horn”. So I looked up why the Bible makes such a big deal about horns.

And here’s what I learned.

Think of horns on an animal. (The author recommended looking up YouTube vids of “lion vs. buffalo”, even with the buffalo’s two small horns. In light of the Hedda Gabler debacle, I thought not.)

Animals lift up their horns as a show of strength before a battle. Horns are a symbol of strength, weaponry, defense, victory in battle, or as with biblical characters, to “give (God’s) people supernatural powers to prevail against a vastly superior opponent.”

But there’s this, too: that “horn” can be associated with plenty and anointing. And not in a “here’s a dot of olive oil on your forehead” way, but

incredibly obvious, cascading off the king’s head onto his shoulders, staining his clothes, and making his face shine. It would leave no doubt that this person has been smeared, anointed, with the power and abundance of Israel’s God and indeed with his very Spirit. And indeed, such is the picture of David’s anointing: “Then Samuel took the horn of oil and anointed him in the midst of his brothers. And the Spirit of the Lord rushed upon David from that day forward” (1 Sam. 16:13).

That is the image we draw on whenever we refer to Jesus as the Messiah. (The Hebrew word mashach means to “smear” or “anoint.”) 

Because of him–you’ve got this

So at the risk of going all Pentecostal on you–I tried to imagine what roles God has anointed me for right now, precisely in this season of feeling not enough.

See, when I was first pregnant with my daughter–our second “surprise!” child, our third child in three years–I was feeling overwhelmed. (Huh. Duh.)

And I remember where I was, going over a speed bump in our neighborhood, when I imagined people standing in line to receive gifts from God.

In my arms, he placed a baby.

As a follower of Jesus, I have God’s Holy Spirit: “You have an anointing from the Holy One, and all of you know the truth … the anointing you received from him remains in you” (1 John 2:20, 27).

I am chosen. And chosen for the purposes He’s handed me. He has made no mistake in making me my kids’ mother, the owner of the projects in my lap.

So whose voice will be loudest?

Will I listen to the One who’s chosen me for the good works he’s prepared in advance for me to do (Ephesians 2:10)?

I don’t know what messages feel the loudest in your head right now.

But this week, may you sense God’s power and chosenness pouring over your shoulders.

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