being yourself and what that really means

You know that saying or maybe it's more of a mindset that tells you, as you're growing up, that what the world really needs is for you to be you? The world needs more authentic people so you need to embrace who you really are.

Ok, that's crap. I mean, wait. Let me expound on that a little bit.

I think this is one of the most impossible tasks to implore upon someone as we're growing up because we're living in a vacuum that's constantly telling us: whatever you are, it's not right. Be like that person over there. Do that other thing and that'll make you better. Be better. Be smarter. Be cooler. Be more attractive. Be more put-together. Be someone else.

As that voice tells me to "just be myself", my cynical response is to cock an eyebrow at them and consciously (and unconsciously) stuff my  "authentic" self a little deeper because they have no idea how hard it is to just get by. 

I wake up and I just want to be seen as acceptable. Something worthwhile. And if that means I need to laugh harder, spend more time looking more presentable, know more about that cool thing that everyone's talking about, then so be it. 

Be myself? Yeah, that doesn't work.

So I live in this place of limbo - fighting myself and others and settling into an ignorant complacency. I mean, it works, doesn't it?

And then, there comes a time in the not-too-distant future...or maybe it's in the way distant future (either is fine by the way) and you realize: hey, I'm tired of this. I'm wasted. No more playing at this act of being acceptable all the time. 

But then it dawns on you: I have no idea who I really am. I've pretended to be something or someone else for so long that the lines have blurred and the reality and fantasy are...the same. Do I really like dressing that way? Do I really care about that particular issue? Are these people around me the type of friends I really want? 

I know that many psychologists have theorized about identify formation and such. And maybe they're all right. Or none of them are right.

All I know is that we're fed paradoxical messages from the first time we open our eyes. Be yourself. And that voice that tells you that you're not good enough - listen to that too. Because you can always be better. 

Maybe this is an age-thing. Maybe it can only be realized after suffering from getting caught in the sharp-edged cycle of performance. And it's only grace that can free us.

After so many years of wanting to just be someone else and grieving and angrily gnashing my teeth from the loss of what was just out of my reach... I've slammed my hand on the bright red abort button of this impossible mission. 

And slowly, so very slowly I'm realizing the truth. Of grace. Of the beauty of settling into who I really am. It's like returning to the outline of myself that I ran away from so many years ago. It's been there all along and I've hidden it away thinking it wasn't good enough.

After you learn to appreciate and embrace your whole self (a process that, by the way, is definitely a life-long thing), you can finally do what you were always meant to do. Love God and love others the best you possibly can.

porch swing

The slats of the swing were rough and uneven. My toes grazed the wooden porch floor as I moved back and forth. Slowly moving, accompanied by the subtle creak of metal in the silence of the morning. 

I was wide awake. A cup of bitter-tasting chicory coffee in a red solo cup was held with fingertips, since the kitchen lacked adequate mugs, and the steam rose to my nose causing it to wrinkle.

My eyes scanned the expansive view in front of me. The tops of trees blocked the sun's rising rays with the backlighting that gives the world a fresh look. Faces bathed in gold and the air smelling like the fog that was beginning to disappear. The forest extended as far as I could see. It rose up and down in subtle waves. This is beautiful country, I thought to myself.

I think there are a few times in life when you realize that something is ending. An era of certainty. A time when you thought you understood how things worked. And in front of you is the unknown. An adventure that moves like the rising and falling slopes of the mountains. It's beautiful, but wild and a little dangerous.

I sat there. On a porch swing with a plastic red cup of chicory coffee. I was afraid, but what I saw in front of me, left me in awe.

no more shame

Yesterday's sermon was entitled "The Emotional Context of Temptation." He spoke a lot on shame. What is shame?

It's something I've been contemplating. And slowly realizing how much it has carved a deep groove into my life. 

Shame says: "you're different", "you're less than"

Shame says: "if people really knew you...if they found out...they wouldn't like you."

So, we hang our heads and hide. We plaster a thick mask and cover ourselves. We bury ourselves deep into dark holes of doubt. 

I feel myself wanting to cover my heart as I type this. Did you know this is a universal sign of feeling vulnerable? If you talk with something and their hand covers their heart, they're feeling...exposed. The heart. Its depths run to the core of our being.

Please don't see this. Shame.

How do we counteract such a pervasive and insidious enemy? Is there something strong enough?

Yes. Absolutely yes. 

You know the answer. It's Jesus. We give him our shame and self-loathing. The contempt we hold bind ourselves to. We feel those feelings. I feel (blank) when (blank) happens. Jesus, can you please take this? I just can't. 

You died on the cross. And on that cross was my shame. It's been put to death and your grace has been filled in its place. 

Grace for shame. Please.

from the wreckage

Where in your life is it most difficult to hope? Finding "the one"? Your reflection in the mirror? To make friends? To have a functional relationship? 

Where is there pain? Yes, that place. The place that you would rather never talk about and keep quiet. That is where Jesus wants to dwell. In the aftermath with the wreckage of sadness, grief, disappointment, or anger - he wants to set up shop and live.

In my mind, I picture The Beast (from Disney's Beauty and the Beast) in his semi-destroyed castle. Ripped curtains, ram shackled furniture, servants quaking in fear. There's darkness everyone and no hope. No hope of change from the isolation. No hope of change from...this.

I don't want to over-spiritualize a Disney movie (but seriously, it's a great movie), but it's a cartoon allegorical version of real life. 

I've been cursed, doomed and this will never change. 

Then, imagine someone who is unafraid of the darkness and isolation. He walks in and takes you by the hands as you sit in the destroyed remnants of your life. He sits down with you and lives there. Let's do this together.

I don't want you to see this, I say. This is shameful. But he doesn't go anywhere. Instead, he walks around and opens the doors and lets in light. Please, stop. This hurts too much. He turns back to me and lifts me up. And carries me. And I'm no longer alone.

what if?

What if I went to Jesus everytime, the first time, I felt lonely? Sad? Disappointed? Frustrated? Unfulfilled? Excited? Joyous? Accomplished? Angry? Rejected? Prideful?

What if I did that? What would change? What would stay the same?

I think everything would change if I did that. 

You know that icky feeling of dissatisfaction? What if instead of turning on the TV, sending that quick text, or browsing through Amazon deals - what if I imagined myself handing the icky feeling to Jesus? Like a little kid with a cut on his hand? Here it is, I'm hurting and I come to you needing help because I can't. Please take it and fix it into something beautiful because I just don't see how.

Take this life with its dents or gaping holes. Take the inadequacy and darkness that fills the corners. Shine your light that heals. Cover my wounds with your own that sanctify.

Please, Lord, take it because that changes everything.

how I became (am becoming) a better socializer because of my job

The alternate title to this post was even longer: How I became (am becoming) a better socializer because of being a school counselor to children and adolescents. 

You get the idea.

I realized this kind of early on. It may have been my internship. No, it was before then. It was my 100-hour practicum at an elementary school. I was convinced I didn't like the elementary school level and that working with seven-year-olds was firmly not for me. It was great for others, but for me - no. I was never a "kid person." 

That changed after my first week. Kids are great. Working with them is even better. What surprised me even more than that was how it was drawing me out of myself. People who don't know me say I'm reserved. I guess I have two speeds - reserved and highly expressive. And there's very little in-between.

Here it is, my job. My job is to draw other people out and to make them feel safe talking to someone whose sole purpose is to help them - even though they don't know me at all. To allow them to be fully themselves. Kind of ironic, right? So, what does someone who is naturally reserved around strangers do when that twelve-year-old stranger stares at you as if you say, "um, so what do we do now?" 

I start to talk. I ask them about their day and about the new shoes they're wearing and what movies they watched. I comment on the food they're serving in the cafeteria and whether they like their teacher. And without fail, they open their mouths and they share. Some with ease. Others with hesitancy.

By trying to draw them out, I'm drawing myself out. I forget my insecurities because I don't want them to feel insecure. 

It's a great thing, really. To care for the other means that I stop thinking so much about myself. And in fact, I start to feel more comfortable in my own skin. To care for the other is to become more fully alive. To become more fully human. 

So thank you, children and adolescents. Thank you for teaching me everyday how to be more human. These skills are being used in cocktail parties, random gatherings, and even in line at the grocery store. Thank you for helping me to get outside of myself and care for the other person.

infancy

I need Thee 
O I need Thee
Every hour I need Thee
O bless me now my Savior
I come to Thee
- "I Need Thee", Annie S. Hawks

These words means more to me now than ever. What a beautifully heart-wrenching experience to depend on the Lord for survival. To have to trust in Him so implicitly I feel like an infant. Not a toddler so I can at least transport myself. A brazen toddler who acts like I have it figured out and to please stop trying to help me! I can't help myself. I'm not even going to apologize about my need. An infant has to be carried. And to feel especially secure, I need to be held close to His heart. 

I need thee... every hour... I need thee.