A Gideon Complex

I think it's called the high school senior complex...the point where you think you're the best thing since sliced bread because you're in such rigorous classes as English 4 and government economics. You're somebody because you're at the senior prom and you have a 1989 Ford Taurus and you it has a little gold tassel hanging from the rearview mirror.

And I distinctly remember them talking about the corresponding complex...college freshman complex...when you suddenly realize, wow, I'm dirt.

College has definitely shown me a little bit about how I'm dirt. It's shown me that I am a lame conversationalist and a poor housekeeper and have a weakness for cafeteria food. I mean, right now I'm sitting in my quiet little dorm room, writing to the sounds of Michael Buble's "That's All" as he's crooning about some cozy little all-encompassing romance. And I'm profoundly alone. There's a pile of dirty clothes obstructing my workspace and a bag of dirty socks that I have no money to wash, and this room is irreversibly dirty. Ugh.

So then why doesn't everybody else see me as the bumbling, lame misfit that I am? Within the past five days or so, I have been offered three huge leadership positions. Out of nowhere. I mean, what was my RA thinking when she appointed me to lead the floor board and apply for RA? What was Andrew thinking when he suggested I take his news editor position or take on editor-in-chief of the Chimes newspaper? What was my professor thinking when she appointed me managing editor of the first-ever student run magazine and it's 25 member staff? Don't they see this timid and disorganized little freshman? Maybe they think that right now I'm doing something profound and leader-like, rather than musing to cyberspace while listening to Michael Buble's "Moondance."

Honestly, I'm totally scared of all this responsibility. Don't they realize how lame I am? I'm not the uber-spiritual guru or Torrey genius that needs to take over the helm of these oorganizations. They've got the wrong girl.

I'm kind of working through a Gideon complex right now, wondering why God calls the one whose burrowing beneath the grain on the threshing floor "mighty warrior." Well, yeah, it's cool to have that title, but I didn't do anything to merit it, and if it means brushing off this straw and leading the ultimate underdog against the Ammonites with a couple of wimpy ram's horns and some dishes from the kitchen, then heck no!

All I can say is if any of this stuff comes off, I'll be able to point to God. Oh, I need him so much! I need to cling to that college-freshman-dirt complex because it's the only thing that's going to give him enough room to work through my life.

Thank you God, for I'm not dirt in your sight. I'm a mighty warrior, and not in that falsely inflated high school senior sense.