Mediocre Meanderings: Origin of the Theme

I do not remember when the following poem was penned. Yet, it reflects a very old, deep-seated sense of inferiority, insecurity, self-doubt, and anxiety. The feelings, which I could not articulate until later in life, were ubiquitous (always and everywhere present) and have led to struggle, recognition of a need for change, and efforts toward growth. A number of gracious, loving people “saw potential” in me and invested in helping me grow. Of paramount importance has been my very often weak love of; and my often fragile trust in God. His love has never been fragile!

Many, maybe most, who know me would be surprised I had such inhibitions and fears. (They still sneak up and bite me in the behind from time-to-time). Thus, I know what is meant by “inferiority complex”. Mediocre. Hmmm. In the view of my Heavenly Father, no way. God does not love me as He loves anyone else. We are not loved equally. (I know that will be stretch for some). But, consider: “We are loved uniquely”: That is better than being equally loved.

My “productions” typically come out in unpolished form. I am very okay with that. They are from me. Sometimes I write as stimulated by others I meet and with whom I work. Yet, they all reflect a bit of me, if not a great deal of me. Hence, even the flaws provide a glimpse of my makeup and character.

MEDIOCRE MEANDERINGS

Mighty men and women,
With pedigree so fine,
Intimidate me greatly,
I stand here last in line.

Everyone is better.
Everyone accomplished more.
Me, I’m mediocre,
Mediocre to the core.

But, alas, I sit and wonder,
With my mediocre mind,
If I use this self-description,
To run and hide behind?!

I say, I’m mediocre,
Created, by design,
To give credit to the Father,
So not to say, “The credit’s mine”.

So, I claim mediocre,
No credit comes to me.
Yet, at times I am consumed
By intensely, strong envy.

I deny my contributions,
As I deny God’s gifts, you see.
Thus, I live in mediocre
And, contain both God and me.

I live my life in torment,
Obsessing as I go,
No matter what’s accomplished,
At best, I’m just so-so.

I pen this poem so poorly,
Meanderings no one will read.
I end this feeble effort
With finality and speed.

-Richard L. Brewer