Inadequate

As a girl, my mom took my brother and I to AstroWorld every week during the summer, many times more than once a week. It was there that I learned to pocket my fears & enjoy the drop in my stomach and wind in my face, the thrill of the ride. I have many fond childhood memories running from ride to ride, rain or shine, every week, eating funnel cakes and dip-n-dots, and checking out all the other “interesting” folks. Now, AstroWord is no more than an empty field of grass and only old photographs and my young memories remain.

The part of the neighborhood still standing--what we affectionately came to call “The World’s Worst McDonald’s.” Yes, that’s right. After a long day of riding rides and basking in the sun, we often enjoyed dinner at a sub-par McDonald’s. My grandpa always said, “Ya just give ‘em $20 and tell ‘em, ‘Just give me whatever you’re gonna get me anyway.’” About the only thing they were quick to do was mess up the order. “Um, I’d like a Big Mac and a root beer.” “Okay, ma’am, here is your salad and ice cream cone.”

For the last few months, I have lived just a stone throw from that grassy field and the remaining McDonald’s. Occasionally, I drive by and laugh about the good ‘ole summer days I spent there as a child. And, occasionally, I take a stroll down memory lane and attempt to grab a nutritious bite to eat there. I am happy, or maybe terrified, to say that some things never change.

My first visit in over 5 years was a late night craving for some ice cream. I recounted my childhood memories and my grandpa’s saying to my partner-in-crime as we pulled up to the drive-thru and ordered our ice cream. “Sorry, ma’am, we ain’t got no ice cream.” “Um, I’ll take a diet coke.” “We ain’t got that neither.” “An apple pie?” “Uhhh, we only got cherry.”

We drove away empty-handed and laughing until we ached.

A few days ago I made another visit with another buddy to the famed McDonald’s. I recounted the stories and memories once again. We uneventfully placed our orders in the drive-thru, and to our pleasant surprise everything we ordered was available. My friend handed over her credit card and the cashier proceeded to swipe it and hand it back. This happened about 3 or 4 times before it dawned on him that something wasn’t quite right—back and forth with the credit card. He calls over his buddy, “Dominque, what up yo wit’ the thing?” They turn the credit card machine upside-down, backwards, and sideways. No luck. “Pedro, man, come see, dude.” Pedro tries his magic. No luck. The 3 look at each other at a loss. Then the original cashier says, “O yeah, dude, it ain’t working. I put the sign on ‘da drive thru a few minutes ago. I forget. It broke. Cash only.”

We dig for change holding back the laughter of the ever-so-faithful MickeyD’s. Our meal was a little chilly by the time we got home, but the trip was worth the laughs.

The place is faithfully deplorable. Completely inadequate. Specializing in messing-up. What a reputation.

Sometimes I wonder if my apples don’t fall far from that tree. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever get everything in life right. Sometimes I wonder if I am good enough. And more and more I am coming to the realization that I am not and never will be. You see, no matter how many times they swiped that credit card it was never going to work—the machine was broken. And I am finding that no matter how hard I try, I still don’t always measure up to who others expect me to be or even who I expect myself to be and much less who God expects me to be. I am broken. Even worse—I live in a broken world, and when one broken vessel knocks into other, you tend to just get a lot of broken pieces.

I am becoming more and more accepting of my inadequacy. I strive to pull myself together and grow more and more into the woman God wants me to be, but at the end of the days when the pieces crumble in my hands I find grace in the hands of a gentle God who wants all my inadequate pieces. I am reminded of the Scripture in Jeremiah 2:13, “…they have forgotten Me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water.” Too often I am striving too much only to find that these cisterns I build are laughable. Too often I don’t stop to simply, “Be still and know that He is God.”

I know that I will never measure up. But I also know a God who can move mountains, and surely can move my imperfect self out of the way. He is adequate. And in Him, I find grace and a fountain of living water that doesn’t need a cistern—whole or not—to hold it’s refreshing streams of life.

He is faithful and--I am sure--never runs out of ice cream when you need it....