An Honest Letter to the Control Freaks Like Me

To a fault, many would say, (and I can’t really honestly in my heart deny) that I am a “Control Freak.” If there was an Control Freaks Anonymous, I’d probably be the poster child representing all the other people who are just like me; and frankly, just like any other addiction, the desire increases itself with more and more intensity after dealing with scenarios of “Unmet Expectations,” “Let-downs,” “Screw-Ups” and “Disappointments,” at the hands of other people.  These are the moments where my desire for control is justified in my own mind again and again.

I've been this way as long as I can remember. Early on in school, when a group project was assigned, I was that kid that would do all of the group project, and let the people who “Randomly” ended up in my group, get my grade, because I couldn’t risk them not following thru with their roles and responsibilities. Self sacrificially I’d find myself often doing 4X the work, because I knew I could count on myself, but rarely on others. Now school didn’t come naturally to me, (as I’ve grown, and got three years of teaching under my belt, I recognized there probably was some undiagnosed learning struggles that I have, that never were addressed) but I wasn’t going to let the lack of effort from someone else be the thing that would hurt my grade and consequently me. If nothing else, I couldn’t control my natural learning ability but I could always control my effort. As a kid, when things were out of my control, I made every effort to control the things that I could with whatever means were in my ability.

In countless jobs in the past, if I knew something needed to be done in a particular way, with a particular degree of excellence or method, I knew it would require me to step in and complete whatever task, and fulfill whatever role to ensure that it would be done in the way it was supposed to be. Call me a freak, but this is to a point where I will lose sleep when I know something was left “Undone” or completed insufficiently. This is a growth area for me and I’m getting better at this, but I still to this day will wake up in the middle of the night, thinking about that one time, I didn’t put away a tool I borrowed away where it was supposed to go in 2009.

I’m the person in the friend group that has run every scenario to pack all the essentials that get overlooked, built a color-coded itinerary for everyone to follow, made a visual flow chart simple enough for a child to read, provided directions, (and backup directions) thought through (and prepared for) worst-case situations—and made alternatives in the event things go south.

My calendar is mapped out to a T, making sure that it’s full to the brim, with maximized efficiency, and strategy to accomplish all the things I can to earn the imaginary approval from the people that pretend to be interested.

Now to employers, and co-workers, and a few of my “Space Cadet,” “Fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants” friends, many of these quirks that I have are highly desirable traits, but like any addiction or an illness, there always come side effects, and indirect backlash. Unlike most vices, the desire and innate need for Control is one that when masqueraded appears as a thing that in moderation is “healthy,”  and frankly socially acceptable, yet when left unchecked can actually be the vain poison that flows like a floodgate through our bloodstreams.

It’s take me years of life to rationalize this—but “control” has always been the thing that I have clinged tightly to, and in the last couple years I’ve had to go through the process of learning what portions of it have been necessary for me to undo—because I have seen the ways in which it has been my own demise.

Now don’t get me wrong, if I’m planning a trip, or organizing an event, or sorting something, it will still be done in the way that I know that it needs to be done, but relinquishing control of some essential things has been a necessary component and step for growth for me.

I grew up in the church, so I heard early on from elderly ladies with frail, well-lived-in-bodies that “The Lord will Provide.” Now I don’t know if they were just repeating something that was woven onto the tapestries that hung in the sanctuary, or if they truly believed it to be the case, but I am coming to a stage of life where admitting my need for control, and surrendering it has been essential before accepting internally that “The Lord Will Provide.”

For much of my life I believed the non-biblical phrase of “God Helps Those who Help Themselves,” and adopted the religiosity and ten commandments of “sweat ethics,” believing that working hard would make up for the hard work of believing. To a fault I understood “The Lord Will Provide,” as “Work Really hard and Keep Faith in your Back Pocket as a failsafe,” but “Only Break the Glass in an Emergency.” (Which is pretty rare, considering that I am the person who has already built a back-up emergency plan).   

Reminiscing on the fact that this is my 6th Summer living in Northern Michigan, I’m amazed at how many moments I can look back upon my time living in this state as singular moments where the Lord did provide in that time period in ways that didn’t make sense.

Provision has come in countless ways, but it was never by the ways that I anticipated it would come—and as hard as it is for me to admit, the moments where provision was on display prominently was when I laid down my need for control.

Provision came by means of: people letting me crash in their basements in times of desperation, financial peace in moments when the numbers didn’t add up, job opportunity where there shouldn’t have been, moments where, deep covenant friendships that I’d not expected would be made, medical deliverance and physical protection from harm.

Little did I know that Provision would come through: Conversations, Brotherly Love, Songs with Lyrics that would ravage my soul, warm drinks on cold mornings, cold drinks on hot nights, free furniture on the side of the road, hours in a tattoo parlor, time spent in water, at kitchen tables, around campfires, and with a few good people. Provision made itself eminent in the still moments, in being given honorary Uncle Status, by surprise birthday parties, in hand-me-down clothes, by journals full of thoughts, prayers and doodles, by text messages that were sent at the right time, by music festivals, international postcards and by bear hugs.

Provision Came.

Again.

Again.

And Again.

Provision Came

What I am coming to realize and accept is yes “The Lord Will Provide.” Jehovah Jireh. I believe to be true, but I have also come to the hard realization that giving up control of things that we can’t control is required for this to happen. They aren’t mutually exclusive; our need for Control and our desire for Provision are interconnected. We can’t expect the Lord to work, in a space that we’ve taken residency up in.

What I’ve also come to realize is that Provision is a Promise of God, not just a hopeful wish.

A promise meaning that it will take place, but not necessarily by the means or on the timeline that we necessarily want it to. Promises are certain, but there is always an underlying lesson that is being taught beneath the promise.

For me, that lesson taught in my time spent in the Midwest is that of Provision. The stitchwork décor with the phrase that adorns the walls of old folks homes, has been revealed to me time and time again.

There are still many pressing and detrimental things in my life that are still out of my control. (As much as I hate it—I’ve come to accept it) Things that bring me great sorrow and affliction, and aspects of this life that I don’t understand or seem fair. But the beauty of provision, is that it is met in the spaces that are unexpected, and revealed most brilliantly in the waiting.