Clanging Symbols
I was at work on Monday night and was getting ready to close. As I was walking through the building and straightening things up, I found something that I see most Monday nights while closing: a Christian tract. When I find a tract, it is almost always on Mondays, is the same exact one, and is sitting on a shelf, waiting to be picked up. Every single time I encounter a tract, at work or anywhere else, I always experience conflicted feelings.
When I was between 5th and 8th grade, that’s when my Christian upbringing really started to kick in. I had accepted Jesus as my Savior around the ever-so-wise age of 5, but it was those formative years that I was most “Christian,” or, rather, I was what I thought a Christian was. I was a proud owner of many W.W.J.D.? bracelets. I owned many t-shirts that said Scripture instead of a brand name. My Christian CD collection was admired by many. I was the poster child for a preacher’s kid.
Around age 12, I met this boy named Graham. I don’t recall how we met, but we started talking frequently. Early on in our friendship Graham said that he was not a Christian. He really thought nothing of God and faith. This alarmed me in ways not many things had before. I knew immediately that I was to share God with him. I wasn’t sure how to do this exactly, but after a while I just decided to evangelize in the form of online communication. I wrote him an e-mail that I believe included the phrase, “If you were to die tonight…” I don’t even remember what he said, just that we didn’t talk much after that.
Looking back on this, I feel embarrassment as if I were a woman looking back on a prom photo taken fifteen years earlier: sure, the dress was nice then, but I would choose something completely different now.
Over and over again, I have recently been overwhelmed with the idea that God is a relational God. He did not love sinners because they were his projects to convert. He did not dine with thieves simply to give them a three-step plan on how to be saved. He did not associate himself with the poor and the lowly to simply play a part. He spent time with those who needed grace because he loved them.
I have become completely convinced that the only thing that can ever begin to change someone’s heart is love. Love dripping with honesty. Love full of defense and protection. Love without an agenda.
If there is a message that all people need to hear it is that God so desperately loves them and is ready and willing to give them acceptance and mercy, that in him is the only peace and healing anyone can find. The problem is not the message, but how it is sometimes delivered that gets me.
That is why I struggle with that tract I see most weeks. I have picked it up and read it, and what it says is true. God is indeed merciful, full of love, and will accept anyone who comes to him. While the message is true and beautiful, what the tract lacks is relationship. It is simply a brochure. Jesus did not hand out brochures; he went to parties, gathered for meals, and sat down next to women who were constantly whispered about. His evangelism was not about plans or steps or pieces of paper: it was all relational, all about love.
I am not in any way saying there is something wrong with tracts. I know that many people have been brought to Christ through such a tool. And anytime a person comes to know Jesus is cause for celebration, completely regardless of how it happened.
What I am saying is simply something I’ve been thinking about and needed to be reminded of. I cannot look at someone who does not share my faith and judge that person. I cannot look at him or her as some sort of spiritual project. I cannot cease communication with that person if he or she never responds the way I hoped. I can only love.
Words are important. A person can never know Jesus without someone or something pointing them that way. But words, even true words, have little to no meaning unless the person speaking them backs them up with their actions. I think this is why so many people either hate or roll their eyes at those inside the Church: we preach one thing and live another.
I don’t ever want to begin a relationship with anyone and have an agenda that is not simply to love that person as much as I can for no reason other than the fact that Jesus would and does. I don’t want to say I love them but then leave them as soon as they disagree with me.
I write all of this as a challenge to myself to remember that love is the only thing that matters. Out of love, all else will flow. Grace can do little without love. Peace cannot be known without love. Healing is impossible without love.
Love never fails, and I am so incredibly grateful for that.
Nouwen on Validation
“When you experience a great need for human affection, you have to ask yourself whether the circumstances surrounding you and the people you are with are truly where God wants you to be. Whatever you are doing–watching a movie, writing a book, giving a presentation, eating, sleeping–you have to stay in God’s presence. If you feel a great loneliness and a deep longing for human contact, you have to be extremely discerning. Ask yourself whether this situation is truly God-given. Because where God wants you to be, God holds you safe and gives you peace, even when there is pain.”
“For as long as you can remember, you have been a pleaser, depending on others to give you an identity. You need not look at that only in a negative way. You wanted to give your heart to others, and you did so quickly and easily. But now you are being asked to let go of all these self-made props and trust that God is enough for you. You must stop being a pleaser and reclaim your identity as a free self.”
As I’ve been writing about lately, this entire Lent season I have been dealing with issues of validation. I have been trying to lessen the desire for my peers to define me and allow the voice of God to give me my true identity. Today I was reading some of Henri Nouwen’s book The Inner Voice of Love and found the above quotes. The book is a series of short meditations, not needing to be read in order. I was browsing the chapter index and was drawn to a few specific ones that I read. The two above were a couple of them. I found them incredibly pertinent to my current struggles and was immensely blessed by Nouwen’s thoughts.
Last week was absolutely wonderful for me in many ways. God provided me with community and some wonderful conversations, both of which I’ve been craving lately. Slowly but surely I feel my wounds healing. There is still a long journey before me but I feel more hopeful than I have in a long time. I am grateful and overwhelmingly blessed.
Lay It Down
Wake up little Isaac
And rub your tired eyes
Go and kiss your mama
We’ll be gone a little while
Come and walk beside me
Come and hold your papa’s hand
I go to make an altar
And to offer up my lambI waited on the Lord
And in a waking dream He came
Riding on a wind across the sand
He spoke my name
“Here I am”, I whispered
And I waited in the dark
The answer was a sword
That came down hard upon my heartHoly is the Lord
Holy is the Lord
And the Lord I will obey
Lord, help me I don’t know the waySo take me to the mountain
I will follow where You lead
There I’ll lay the body
Of the boy You gave to me
And even though You take him
Still I ever will obey
But Maker of this mountain, please
Make another wayHoly is the Lord
Holy is the Lord
And the Lord I will obey
Lord, help me I don’t know the way“Holy is the Lord,” Andrew Peterson
Whenever I picture the scene of Abraham climbing up the mountain with Isaac, I am always filled with a sense of amazement. With pieces of Scripture that are very popular and familiar, like the Abraham/Isaac story, I have a tendency to forget these aren’t just stories; they involve real people with real emotions struggling with real faith.
I cannot imagine having the faith that Abraham had. I shudder at the thought of giving away too much money or my favorite piece of clothing. To be willing to take your most prized possession, your son, and sacrifice him on an altar to the Lord takes an incredible amount of faith.
I am sitting here now, trying to imagine what must have gone through Abraham’s mind as he first wrestled with this request of God’s. My first instinct would have been to run away, to hide, and to protect this person God was asking me to give up. Yet Abraham didn’t run or hide or protect his son. He climbed the mountain.
I have to wonder what Abraham was thinking as they made their journey. Did he have a calm in his heart? Was he certain that somehow God would provide a way out? Or did he truly believe his son’s life was about to be over? Did he really love God that much?
A while ago when I was wrestling with this story, I was thinking about the idea of sacrifice. I thought about the people and the things I love more than I love anything else, and then I asked myself whether or not I’d be willing to place those people or things on the altar. The answer was a vehement “no” and still is. Maybe, until I am willing to lay down my most precious love, I will not be as close to Jesus as I could be. Maybe there are things He simply will not show me until I am ready to surrender all things to Him.
I want my faith to get deeper and stronger. I want to be able to declare the Lord Holy even when I have no idea where He’s leading me, even when His requests seem terrifying. I want to trust that He formed and knows my heart, and will do whatever it takes to heal it when it gets broken.
You’ve Been Loved
Tonight I sprawled out on my bed with my new copy of The Best American Short Stories 2007 and proceeded to lay there and be sad. I was sad that I was alone on Valentine’s Day. I was sad that it was only 7-something yet felt a lot later. I was sad that most of my friends are currently involved in some sort of romance and I am not. And did I mention I was sad to be alone on Valentine’s Day?
After a few minutes of sprawling, I got up, tossed my book aside, and decided to make room on my bookshelves for the massive amount of books I have purchased that have simply been setting on my floor. I hooked up my MP3 player to my stereo and put it on shuffle. One of the songs that played was “You’ve Been Loved” by Joseph Arthur:
You don’t know how you feel
Are you a dream?
Are you for real?
Cause you don’t ever slow down
To find what you lost or lose what you foundNo one’s saying what you need to hear
You’ve been loved
You’ve been loved
You’ve been loved
You’ve been loved
You’ve been loved
You’ve been lovedIt’s always hard to admit
Most days you feel like you don’t exist
Temptation sneaks past your fists
Until the devil won’t let you resistOblivion is what you want
But you’ve been loved
You’ve been loved
You’ve been loved…
And so it continued. I have loved this song for a long time, and I needed to hear it tonight.
______________________
So much of my desire for romance is still just a search for validation. It often feels that if I don’t have someone pursuing me, I am apparently not worth it. There’s this idea that floats around in my head sometimes that there’s something wrong with me, that I am somehow too flawed.
Romance in so revered in the culture as a whole and also in the church. It’s like I get this look of sympathy when I tell someone I’m single. There’s this completely devastating idea out there that a woman’s life doesn’t truly begin until she is loved by a man. I know that this is silly, but it’s something I’ve bought in to.
When I first started college, I wanted to meet someone, date him for a year or two, get engaged, and then get married right after graduation. This seemed to be the perfect plan. Problem is, I’m now in my third year of school and my groom-to-be has yet to show up.
I had this idea that this amazing man would enter my life and I would never have to worry about anything ever again. He would provide for me, he would encourage me, he would tell me how beautiful I am, and he would be my most faithful friend. I wanted to meet that “perfect” guy so I would never have to struggle or try out life on my own. I wanted to enter into a relationship with him so I’d never feel lonely or ugly or desperate or ignored. I didn’t so much want a man as I wanted an easy solution to my problems.
I think everyone in college struggles with issues of identity. There is this maddening search of trying to figure out who you are and what you want and how you’re going to take care of yourself without a safety net. I believed that if I found this prince charming of mine that I wouldn’t have to wrestle with those things like other people do; I thought he would make me exempt.
__________________________
I am what some might call anti-social. I am extremely introverted. I usually don’t feel completely comfortable with someone unless I’ve known him or her for six or so months. Or six or so years. Whatever. 98% of my friends are incredibly outgoing and chatty, which is probably why we’re friends in the first place: they make up for what I lack.
I love being with my friends and going out with them, but alone time is an absolute necessity for me. I need time to myself to refocus and just be still. In spite of all this, I have found myself extremely bored this past week. If I haven’t been with someone, I haven’t been content. I’ve actually wanted to talk to people I don’t know, which is basically miraculous for me. I’ve wondered at this a bit tonight.
As I pondered, I thought that perhaps my sudden longing to be around people all the time is because I know in my heart that I need to be alone right now. During this time of Lent, I have vowed to ready myself for the resurrection. I have had a burning desire to see and know more of God. I have been reminded over and over and over again that my validation must come from Him alone.
So, tonight, as I sit here with my laptop instead of my prince, I will be content. I might have to fight for such contentment, but I will do it. I will spend time with my Creator. I will let Him define and shape who I am. I will be alone, but I will be reminded of this…
You’ve been loved
Icelandic Bands and Jesus
I’ve been obsessed with Sigur Ros lately. I bought my first album of theirs, Takk…, last week and have been listening to it almost incessantly. I realized the other day that the music of Sigur Ros reminds me of God. I’m not always sure what’s going on or what’s being said, but I know that it’s beautiful and that I love it.
I am learning more and more what it means to commune with Jesus. So often, I would get frustrated because I never felt His presence. In reality, I think that I wanted to always live with that “mountain top experience” that was ever-so-popular during my youth group days.
Perhaps relationship with God is more like a marriage. There are times when it leaves me with a warm, fuzzy feeling and there are times when I just let things simply become routine. That giddy feeling that is prevalent at the beginning of a romantic relationship doesn’t last too horribly long. The more you get to know a person, the more you realize their quirks and neuroses.
I say all of this because I wanted some internal feeling, but I’ve been getting so much more lately. I am learning that God is everywhere. I am learning that what He wants from me is honesty. So when I’m angry, I tell Him. When I’m hurt or bitter, I tell Him. When I’m thrilled and excited, I tell Him.
I think I am slowly but surely becoming more in tune with who He is. I am noticing Him more. When I say that I notice Him, I mean I notice pieces of who He is. I notice beauty more. I appreciate the sunshine after a month of clouds. I appreciate the melting of the massive amount of snow my city has received. I see the story behind a person’s eyes. I am silently reminded how much I judge people and how I need to cease such behavior.
I am learning, also, that there are moments in life where I am simply not going to want to worship or pray or study my Bible. But those moments, those weary moments, are the moments when I must force myself to do so. I think I have often held the view that if a person doesn’t want to worship or pray or study the Scriptures that person shouldn’t bother because God wants passion and commitment.
But how beautiful is it to see someone worship whose life is in shambles? How incredibly poignant is it to see someone in the presence of God when their heart is harder than it should be and their knees are a little weak? There is such beauty in the broken things, and God has designed it to be that way.
I am grateful for these holy encounters and reminders. I am grateful that God is such a relentless lover. There is so much about my faith I don’t understand. But I know that I am better when I’m in constant communication with Jesus. I know that life is better when I worship even when I can’t stand the idea. I know that love is real and glorious and must be protected and sought after whenever possible.
I am thankful for all He has taught me and invited me into.
In Your Eyes
I am incredibly amazed at how difficult it has been to refrain from clicking on those oh-so-tempting MySpace and Facebook links in my Favorites list. I honestly did not think going without them for 40 days was going to be so maddening. It’s not as if I’m giving up food for 40 days. I’m not giving up all my possessions or giving away all my money. I am simply going 40 days without seeing what various people have said to me and to each other. You would not think that such a thing would be this big of a challenge.
Checking my accounts at both sites was such a routine that my mouse automatically goes to the link. And then I stop and stare at it, all highlighted and tempting. And then I remember why I’m doing this: as a tiny, tiny way of seeking God better by giving up two areas of validation so that he can validate me instead.I mentioned how I get validated from those two sites, but I wanted to go into a bit more depth on that idea. When I receive a message or a comment, I feel popular. When I post a photo of myself and someone tells me I look good in it, I feel pretty. When I post a blog entry and someone tells me that I have said some good things, I feel like a good writer.
The number one lesson I am wrestling with right now is that no one should be telling me who I am and who I am not except for God. I don’t want to need popularity. I don’t want to only feel beautiful when others tell me I am. I don’t want to feel like my writing matters only when someone else reads it. I want to be okay without those things.
I had an hour break today between classes, so I went into the school library and pulled out my copy of Rob Bell’s Velvet Elvis. It was my first time through it, and something struck me in movement six. On page 142, Bell writes…
“There is this person who we already are in God’s eyes. And we are learning to live like it is true.
This is an issue of identity. It is letting what God says about us shape what we believe about ourselves. This is why shame has no place whatsoever in the Christian experience. It is simply against all that Jesus is for. As the writer of the Romans puts it, ‘Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.’”
I think that seeking validation from places other than God is a good picture of condemnation. To condemn is to attack or to criticize. When I need someone to tell me I am pretty before I’m willing to believe it, I had to have, at some point, criticized myself so much that I believed I was inherently flawed. When I need someone to praise me, I had to have told myself that I wasn’t good enough or smart enough or competent enough. We so often think of condemnation as something forced upon us by an outside party, but it can also be very internal.
I would love to be able to love a person the way that God loves a person, even if it was just for one minute. I cannot fathom such a deep, whole, beautiful sort of love. It is a kind of love that sees broken and bleeding people and calls them to come and be healed. It is a kind of love that does not give up, even when the targets of that love have. It is a kind of love that changes a person, that validates a person’s soul. It is a kind of love that throws parties for the addicted, the weary, the poor, and the abused.
It is a kind of love I long to be immersed in.
Smeared Yellow Pencil
Last Sunday when I was at church, I was in an absolutely wretched mood. I felt like talking to no one. I felt like leaving. I felt like getting hold of a megaphone and shouting to the masses how much I currently disliked all of them. And I really don’t know why.
I have said before that it is much easier for me to show grace and love to non-Christians, that it is the people who share my faith that I struggle with loving. Last week was no exception.
I sat there in my seat during the service and glared at the back of people’s heads, semi-hoping they could read my negative thoughts towards them and know how I disapproved. Most of my “targets” had never done anything at all to warrant my anger; they were just there and I was angry. Looking back, there was no catalyst to my anger. I don’t even get angry that often, and usually when I do it’s because someone I love has been hurt. Even now, a week later, I’m not sure what was going on with me that day. It was one of those days that I reflected on later and said, “What was that about?”
Derek Webb has a song on his first solo album called “The Church” and in it he sings, “If you love Me, you will love the Church.” That line always gets me, because I always say to God, “But did you hear what this person did? Do you know the ruckus that this person caused? Do I really have to love that person? Do you?”
The answer is always, “Yes, yes, yes, and yes.“
God reminded me of something this week and it has been sinking in and causing my heart to soften. It is the idea that every single person on this planet has a background. They have a story. They were not born as the people I might know them as; something formed them that way.
I have realized something in the past couple of days that I’m not too thrilled about: I am horribly, awfully, ashamedly judgmental. When I am driving, I get irritated at whoever around me isn’t doing what I want them to do and think something bad about them. When I’m at work and someone asks a question that, to me, has a very obvious answer, I silently snicker and think they are stupid. When I see someone shabbily dressed I automatically assume they are poor and dirty. And when I’m at church and walk past someone who disagrees with me or has different ideas about what church is and should be that anger rises up in my chest for a brief moment, making its presence known.
I have caught myself in these silent sins and am amazed at the number of them. Even as I am thinking the thought, I’ll know it’s wrong and unfair.
These people that I laugh at or yell at or am angered by, these people are desperately, entirely loved by the same God who loves me. These people are part of the story, and they each come with their own. There are events in a person’s life that shapes and defines who they are. Some events are hard to get free of; I am working on freedom myself.
As I’ve been wrestling with this issue, a song came to my mind and I began listening to it a lot. I’ve loved it for a long time now. It serves as a wonderful reminder that even the bin Ladens and Hitlers of the world are just as loved by God as I am. We are each created in his image, but we all eventually get wounded. And even in our wounds, we are still beautiful because he has made us so. We are beautiful because he is beautiful. And if God can love the person I despise, surely he can change my heart to love that person too.
I used to draw all the time back when I was in high school
Thick yellow pencils with soft lead that smeared real easy
Page after page. I was lonely. But senior year
I met a girl and she made me feel better here
But a girl was a girl was a girlAnd she was beautiful
Everyone’s beautiful
I smeared the picture and left it with her to appraiseI remember in junior high, half sick from fear on the hillside
Eddie wore braces and talked like he couldn’t be beaten
Shawn had said Friday out back after school
And Eddie was stumbling, blood mixed with drool
But a fight is a fight is a fightStill they were beautiful
Everyone’s beautiful
All of us crawling on hands and knees in need of youI want to lift
My memory
Of them in the desert and set it on fire
And watch it burn
Watch it burn
Oh, how it changes
And hope that the smoke of the sins of my youth
Will sail to the base of the throne of a King
‘Cause a prayer is a prayer is a prayerAnd they were beautiful
Everyone’s beautiful
Let them all find their redemption down deep in Your eyes“Everyone’s Beautiful” by Waterdeep, from their album Everyone’s Beautiful
Amen.
How a Resurrection Really Feels
Every year, I always tell myself I am going to observe Lent. I never remember to actually do this until about two days before it’s over. Though my church as a whole does not observe Lent, I think it is an extremely beautiful, important concept.
I love Easter. It is one of my favorite holidays (right behind Flag Day). I love Easter so much because I get to buy a new outfit, take pictures with my friends, and buy those little chocolate cream-filled eggs. Yes, I am that shallow.
But Easter is far from being about new skirts and sugar; it is a cornerstone of Christianity. I have been working on forgiveness for the past few days. I have been working on forgiving myself, forgiving other people, and allowing God to forgive me for my selfishness. Looking internally and examining what actions need to be repented of is not a fun activity, but it is vital to spiritual growth. Turning away from something is not easy, but there is the hope of Easter, the hope of a new life that Christ is willing to offer.
While I was thinking about what I was going to give up for the next 40 days, I entertained a lot of ideas, like soda (God bless you, makers of Diet Pepsi) or sugar or pleasure reading. The thing I thought of first was to give up MySpace and Facebook. This idea caused me a slight panic attack so I tried to convince myself that soda was definitely the best route. But I took the panic I felt earlier as a sign that it wasn’t.
Before I had a MySpace account, I marveled at my friends who had them. It seemed like the dumbest thing. Why would I want a page with information about myself on it? As soon as I caved in and set a page up, I understood why: it is completely addictive.
I’ve been thinking a lot about community and love, two things I struggle with. I am about as outgoing as a statue and I only love people who generally agree with me. In spite of my massive failures in this area, God has been impressing upon me the need to communicate, and how desperately people truly do want and need one another.
Every single person seeks validation in some way or another, mostly from other people they deem as wise or cool or trendy. In a way, MySpace and Facebook offer this validation. You can choose whatever you want to say about yourself and post it on your profile. You can put only what you want others to see, what you want others to notice. And the responses to this information are usually validating in some form or another. Being validated feels good. Connecting with someone else feels good. But are we really connecting?
I’m a bit of a hermit sometimes, so I find it strange that I say this, but I think things such as MySpace and Facebook and IM’s and text messages have caused us to lose something. I use all of the above forms of communication, but I have to constantly remind myself that an email is not quite the same as sitting across from someone at dinner. I have to remind myself that sending someone a text message is not even close to meeting them for coffee and talking in person.
I think God intended for his creations to be in community with one another, real, face-to-face community. There is nothing wrong with electronic forms of communication, but it’s important, I think, to remind ourselves that nothing really beats the connections made in person.
So for the next 40 days I am taking a break from my beloved MySpace and Facebook pages. If people can quit heroin and begin living a sober life, I can surely go 40 days without logging in.
If Christ can give up heaven, dignity, and ultimately his life for me, surely I can make this one very, very tiny sacrifice in order to better seek him. I am constantly amazed that he chooses such screwed up, selfish people such as me to be his followers, but I am so grateful that he does. As I focus on Christ’s resurrection, my prayer will be that he grants me a resurrection of my own.
Capes, Princess Dresses, and Forgiveness
In my poetry class a couple of weeks ago, my professor was saying that even though our purpose in class was to dissect and understand the forms and functions of poetry, there were some elements of it that one simply could not explain. In poetry, she went on to say, there are certain things that just “get you.” As soon as she said it, I knew exactly what she was talking about and also knew that she was correct. This is true not just in poetry, but in all art. One can analyze and reflect and critique something for days, but sometimes there is a line or a scene or a melody that just gets you.
For this class, each student has to select a poem and work on it for something called a poetry packet. When I turn my packet in, it will contain my thoughts on the poem’s meter, syntax, symbols, etc. The poem I chose to work with is Margaret Atwood’s “Up.” I chose it because it got me. The speaker of the poem is talking to someone who is battling some serious emotional struggles. In the last stanza, the speaker challenges whoever they are speaking to to really look at the situation and see who needs to be forgiven. It struck me immediately that the person needing to be forgiven was the person the poem was about. (If this paragraph is making a bit of sense that will be a miracle.) I think that sometimes in order for people to be truly happy and be the people they were intended to be they have to learn how to forgive themselves.
I read a blog entry tonight that got me. The writer was talking about how much things change from childhood to adulthood. He wrote about how as a little boy, he had a cape. Or, rather, he had a towel that was transformed into a cape. And with his cape on, he felt as if he could and should save the world. There eventually came a point where he realized that capes were for kids; being a hero was just pretend.
He goes on to say this:
“Life is full of seasons, and in many ways I have felt some hopelessness in the past few months. I would be dishonest if I said that I lived in complete hope, but of course I do not. I have fears about family, relationships, career, love, justice, and countless other things. I worry about ideas involving marriage and divorce. I have fears of abandonment, and so I am overly cautious when I am entering into friendships and especially romantic relationships. It is rare that I do not worry, and lately it is rare that I hope.
And so I’ve been wondering what it looks like to put my cape back on.”
And that’s where he got me. I understand that feeling completely because I’ve been there too lately. I am a chronic worrier. I over-plan things. I show up to class and work twenty minutes early. I make lists. I love a good itinerary. I triple check things. I have been realizing more and more lately that I can’t triple check life. I can’t make a nice and neat itinerary. I can and should have plans, but with the knowledge that they are fickle and bound to change at any moment.
One of the comments to the blog entry I quoted above mentioned princess dresses. I am perhaps the most girly person I know. I am like those prissy girls in movies, that girl who shrieks at the sight of an insect and squirms at the thought of sweat. I love a good princess dress but lately I haven’t been wearing mine.
Since I’m a hard-core planner, my head has been swimming with thoughts and fears. I am trying to figure out what I want to do with my overly-priced degree. I am trying to figure out what I am capable of doing. I am trying to get myself in shape as the ever-so-popular independent woman. And the more in shape I get, the more my hope gets crushed.
Instead of the fairy-tale ending my heart once aspired to, I see myself living a life that is not full of beauty and adventure, but deadlines and checklists.
I am not naïve enough to believe that my life (or any life) will actually turn out with a “happily ever after.” I don’t expect a life free of hardships. I don’t expect a fairy godmother showing up just in the nick of time.
But the more I try to push away those desires, the more I try to push the princess dress back into the closet, the more I lose myself. The more I lose my hope. The more I lose my heart.
So what would it look like to put the princess dress back on? I think it would involve trusting people more. It would involve me admitting that I can’t handle everything on my own. It would involve me realizing that community is essential and something that I can’t give up on. It would involve me taking risks and making choices that were not on the checklist.
I have to wonder why I took off the dress in the first place. I have to wonder what has caused most of the women I know to take of their dresses, too, and the boys their capes. Again I think back to the poem I mentioned previously, the Atwood poem that also got me. I think that forgiveness plays a big role in all of this.
Compared to forgiving myself, forgiving other people is quite an easy task. Forgiveness is not simply a decision, but a series of grace-filled responses. I rarely treat myself with grace. I rarely release the things I am not proud of. I rarely stop, reflect, and deal with all of the things I would much rather hide than parade. Such avoidance causes guilt. Women especially are good at feeling guilty, I think. We want to please. I want to please. And when I don’t, the guilt creeps up. And instead of letting it go, I punish myself. I won’t allow myself to dream. I won’t allow myself the daring task of hoping. I won’t allow myself to put on the princess dress and simply be. Part of the charm of little kids is how they are totally and completely themselves. They say whatever comes to mind. They dance on coffee tables and “fly” off of trees. How often do I allow myself the privilege of just being, of being quiet and taking notice of grace and how it applies to me? How often do I forgive myself for my selfishness, vanity, pride, and envy? Not often enough.
I think that forgiveness and freedom are a lot alike. Without forgiveness, whether it is internal or external, one can never truly be free. I read a quote the other day that I loved and saved:
“Freedom is nothing else but a chance to be better.” –Albert Camus
And so it is time to forgive myself for all of the junk I have allowed inside my heart. It is time to allow myself to be forgiven by the very One who made me. It is time to try on the princess dress again and see how it fits. May it be a reminder that life is meant to be enjoyed and treasured. May it be a reminder that I was beautifully made. May it be a reminder that checklists and itineraries only get you so far. And may it be a reminder that hope is not a childish fantasy, but something to be grasped as tightly as possible.
