Too Much

According to Pascal, translated loosely:
too much light is just as blinding as too little;
too much noise is just as deafening as too little;
too much information is just as baffling as too little.

Is it possible that a superabundance of life's blessings can prove just a problematic as a shortage of serendipity?
Can it be that overwhelming opportunity paralyzes just as surely as a single barricaded door?
Does it make any sense that good and noble deeds lose their value when overdone?

Mother Teresa is often quoted complaining (tongue only partly in cheek):
"I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that He didn't trust me so much."

Without daring to compare either my endurance or the heaviness of my burdens to those of Mother Teresa, I must honestly report that I have arrived at a similar sentiment, but with a different conclusion.

Whether by the gift of God or by poorly managed ambition, I have somehow arrived at more than I can handle. I do not report this as a passing feeling nor as a persistent fear, but as a plain fact. Syllogistic proofs I have none, but of this much I am persuaded: I simply do not possess the strength, the emotional stability, the mental clarity, or the intestinal fortitude to continue to perform the tasks and duties which I have been performing, at least not at a level which I would find acceptable or satisfactory. I cannot keep up this pace. The race is too long, and my legs are too tired.

Strangely, perhaps stupidly, I have not yet arrived at the point of resignation. I'm not ready to quit; not yet; not today. While every effort at personal inventory leads me to the unmistakable conclusion that I do not have the strength I will need for tomorrow, I nevertheless sense that I still have enough gas in the tank to get through the rest of today. And this has been the pattern every day, for many days. So consistently has this phenomenon been repeated that I have lost all confidence in my own ability to predict my future state. (One could argue that a repeating pattern of sufficiency should provide ample evidence for an inductive proof of satisfactory provision, but the deductive voices are not so easily quieted, and they insistently obsess on the very present shortages and shortfalls.)

Hypothetically, if sufficient food were provided for me each day, but never enough for the morrow, how long would I persist in being concerned about the clearly inadequate supply? Would 40 years of conditioning change my disposition? Would it help if, once a week, a two-day supply were offered, simply as a predictable demonstration that a regular "day off" would not disrupt either the dependable distribution nor my dependence upon it?

What if, by simple measurement of inventories, it was clear that the supply of oil was insufficient to keep the lights on through the dark night? How many nights would I continue to light the wick, knowing -- beyond reasonable doubt -- that the resources could not last? By the eighth night, would my convictions have changed? Would my doubts disappear?

If it is true that I simply have too much on my plate, that life and choice have provided me more than I can handle, then it must follow that my "too much" is matched by a corresponding "too little." "Too much" to do implies "too little" energy to do it. "Too much" to process suggests "too little" processing capacity. "Too much" of a burden translates into "too little" strength to bear it.

As a designer of mathematical models, I have learned that when reality consistently disproves the predictions of your model, you need to review your methodology and revisit your assumptions. When it comes to comprehending my own limitations, I should know by now that there is something wrong with my model. Either I am continually overestimating the demands placed upon me, or underestimating the availability of strength to meet those demands. Either I have too much awareness of my own weakness, or too little faith in God's provision of strength.

Or both.