The Confession of a People Pleaser

Alright.

Fine.

I confess.

I...

Am...

A...

People pleaser.

Perhaps a little anticlimactic as some who actually read my blog are long past well aware of this personality identifier, character trait, label (whatever it is you might associate it as).  But, none-the-less, it’s true.  I’m a people pleaser. 

It’s hard to see in such a blanket statement sentence on a computer screen... but this confession comes with the air of an introduction at a support group; said with the melancholy of the admittance of the affliction of an embarrassing disease; thrust into the public arena with a cringe and a flinch of the head and a sagging of the shoulders. 

I’m a people pleaser.

The words alone seem innocent enough to indicate that together they should be quite the opposite of its unfortunate reality.  People: populace, citizens, group, nation, community.  Please: satisfy, gratify, make happy, delight.  Sounds grand!  And that’s part of the problem.  Because it becomes the addiction you love to hate and hate to love and still are somewhere stuck in the dichotomy of both.

I’m a people pleaser.  I would rather everyone always be happy.  Always.  Especially and mainly with me.  Although not quite as deeply afflicted as I once was, I will oft do whatever it takes to remain on your good side, keep you smiling (I genuinely do love to see/make people smile), and make sure you’re taken care of.  I am known to be opinionated (even strongly so) but it is oft silenced or conceded on the part of not having an argument...especially on issues where I feel like your view of me would be somehow tarnished. I have no expressible preferences about most things (legitimately...I don’t know if this feeds or comes as a result of) and if you ask me for it I’ll probably panic to come up with an answer. [And even if I come up with one, I probably won’t be able to say it in fear that it would be contrary to whatever it is you’d like.] As a result, I will always gladly go with whatever you want.  I am quick to take the blame in many situations – even if they had little to do with anything I could have done or controlled – and I hold myself responsible for events and circumstances that weren’t my fault – even if only in my head.  I apologize far more than necessary and I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help it.  If I apologize, perhaps you won’t hold whatever possibly awkward, uncomfortable, or annoying thing I just did against me.  Perchance, most noticeable of all, I have a hard time saying ‘no’.  If you invite me to go somewhere or do something and I might let you down otherwise, the answer is ‘yes’ most of the time.  And, if there is something that needs to be done that you wish for me to do, the answer will be ‘yes’ almost undoubtedly.  I will skip sleep if it means you’ll get a little more; I’ll go the extra mile; I’ll do the project I know you hate (even if I hate it as well) before you have a chance to get to it. I might whimper to myself as I fall asleep at night...but I won’t say ‘no’.

This latter piece is extra dangerous as I’ve justified some of my people pleasing tendencies in the name of “being a servant”.  I truly wish to be one but my motives are sometimes skewed.  I’ve been people pleasing for so long that I don’t see myself as trying to match up to the combined unrealistic expectations of dozens of people, I see myself as a servant.  “This is what Jesus would do.”  I tell myself.  “He gave Himself up for all of humankind.  He wasn’t thinking about Himself.  Jesus served, dangit!  The least I can do is put my selfishness aside and do the same!” 

But that is skewed theology.  Jesus wasn’t a doormat.  And while He did give Himself up for all humankind, while He was gracious and loving to a people who didn’t deserve Him or what He gave, it wasn’t all about me, y’all.  Or you.  Oh sure, we most definitely became the recipients of the blessings which trickled down.  We were given the gift, the ultimate gift, and the love the Father has lavished upon us proves individual worth and value.  Because before we in fact were the one’s missing out... Jesus is a restorer.  He restored broken relationship.  The biggest one being between humankind and God.  That we might be part of who He was and what He was doing.  Still, Jesus wasn’t a people pleaser (far from it actually!)  He was, however, a God-pleaser.  Everything He did – including making Himself servant to all was to serve His Father.  It was for the Father’s glory. 

It’s okay to serve people. (I think it’s even okay to do my list above and feel good about it afterwards 95% of the time.) Even and especially to what seems like a fault to the rest of the world...as long as my priorities are in order.  As long as my goal in serving is to love genuinely as Christ has loved me and point back and continuously to the Father.

I was especially convicted of this the other day.  I was reading through a passage I hadn’t been in for a while...the words were there blatantly clear.  Profoundly obvious.  The verse left little room for interpretation.  Galatians 1:10 reads “Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.”

There it was.  In plain English.  Other translations screaming the same thing. The words neither taken out of context nor the message I received a possible interpretation of an otherwise ambiguous but potentially applicable verse.  Nope.  Right there.  Paul, who is a big proponent of being a servant to all said it straight up “Don’t be a people pleaser!  Whose approval are you trying to gain?  If you’re doing it so people will like you – ‘EHHH! Wrong answer! Try again’.  It’s God whose vote counts!”  The Message translation phrases the end of the same verse “If my goal was popularity, I wouldn’t be Christ’s slave...”  If you’re just going to cower down to what the world says, why bother?

This is a hard realization for a people pleaser...

Those who know me know probably also know that I oft will say “Safety first is my number two rule.”  It almost always elicits the response of “so what’s your number one??”  I respond with “Jesus!  Because He should always be first and He doesn’t always ask us to do safe things.  But if it checks through Jesus, safety should be second!”  People pleasing is a safe choice.  It means I stay on people’s good sides, everyone is happy, no one is offended and everyone leaves with a generally good opinion of me.  But safety should always be my number two.  Pleasing Christ should be my number one directive always and this is no exception. 

Paul tells us that “to live is Christ to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21).  It means that I have to be willing to let go of self and control and the things I hold on to – including what people think of me and to find my passion, my direction, my worth, and therefore life, in Christ. 

So it’s about time I admit it.  Get it out in the open.  Confess.  I’m a people pleaser.  But I’d like to be in recovery.  (And I’d quite possibly like you to join me...)

The Sin of “Go”

Originally written my senior year of college, I found this back today quite at random.  I was surprised to find it wasn't posted when it was originally written.  But it's still good.  And still true.  "Homework" has been placed by any hundred of other things but I still haven't quite recovered.  Nor have some of those in my life. It's for that proverbial "you" I re-post this now...

There remains a classic list of the seven deadliest of sins: lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride.  They are the things which damage the image of God created within us, the relationship we have with Him, with others.  Lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride all carry with them a common thread: self.  In all seven of the deadliest we see, at the heart, a desire to be self-fulfilled, gratified, and serving.  And so we come to realize at the center of the sins which will ultimately choke out our very life, there is an unquenchable thirst for “me”.  And few would argue the seven make a fairly comprehensive list.  It covers in broad categories the specific sins we engage in every day.   Our mind goes easily to this default presentation and tries to avoid with absolute certainty our participation. 

Yet, when we think about the most deadly of sins, some words never come up.  For example, no one ever thinks to warn against the life-stealing nature of “productivity”, “efficiency”, and “busy”.  No one stands to preach the evils of an “honest day’s work with overtime”, a “jammed, packed schedule”, “back-to-back activities”, or the necessity to constantly be “on the go”.  In fact, in contemporary western thought, these are heralded as virtues and triumphed with utter assurance for their positive merit.  Heck, “sloth” sits in the middle of the top seven; we’d hate to be accused of not using time wisely!  Letting one minute fall to waste! 

And so we’ve created the eighth deadly sin: “go”.  It is unique only in that, when looked at objectively, “go” tends to feed our selfish nature while depriving it intrinsically of what it truly needs and desires.  In order to even get a number in the rat race we do rather than be, we drive rather than abide.  One more meeting, one more project, one more paper, one more book, one less meal, one less hour of sleep, one less friend.  “It get’s done!  It always get’s done!”  has become the humorous mantra of the sleep-deprived, over-worked, and under-paid.  If we can just meet up to one more expectation, then maybe...

Maybe it is just “that time” in the semester and, if I were to be honest with myself, I would realize how many semesters of my years prior have had me this close to a nervous breakdown at approximately the same point.  But, perhaps, as a senior, I’ve finally become fed-up with how often the “sin of go” clasps its long, bony fingers around my throat, around my heart, and begins to squeeze.  I have finally got to a point where I can no longer move despite the lack of oxygen, no longer function regardless of necessity. I have realized I live in a culture where we fail to notice this as a dehabilitating disease and instead force it upon each other.  Force it until there is no escape which will not also come with dire consequences. 

Furthermore, we have been trained to believe this is normal, acceptable, and for the best.  Recently, (and ironically), for a class I was required to create a time-management profile.  Detailing in 15 minute increments how I spent my time for the duration of a week.  It assessing the results, in breaking down the numbers to see just where I fell, I was upset, disgusted.  Classes and homework only took up 1/3 of my time (close to 50 hours).  No wonder I was never able to finish everything – I never spent enough time!  Out of 168 hours in the week, I recorded 8 where I was deliberately socializing.  Though accounting for less than 5% of my time, I was sure it should have been less.  “Not acceptable.” became my first reaction as I considered 4% more was used up on activities which had no bearing on real life.  In my mind I was feeling very guilty for spending ten minutes before I fell asleep reading a book which wasn’t required for a class or the one night I spent almost an hour with my hopelessly neglected journal.  How could I make up for lost time?

Yet, my moment-by-moment schedule has left me exhausted, overwhelmed, burnout, and broken.  I canNOT do it all.  I want to.  I want to meet everyone’s expectations...least of all my own...and instead I find myself failing on every front.  What is to be done when a look at any class syllabus comes with the cruel awakening there will be no room for sick days?   When a missed class means automatic missed points for attendance and, in addition, a quiz will be missed which cannot be made up and you will be set perfectly behind?  When emergencies arise and there is no time to complete the one small project which will undoubtedly determine your grade in the class?  When a fall break schedule gets jipped impressively for appointments, group projects, and assignments...and you wonder if it is worth your time to go home this semester at all?  When you want nothing more than to laugh with friends and some days forget to smile because life must be taken so seriously?  When the pressure buildup makes you cry? 

I put my all into everything I endeavor and give past what I have of myself to give.  And, in the end, it is never enough.  I always come up short.  Life always demands more.  And my world crashes in when the assignment doesn’t make the due date.  “This isn’t like me!”  I shout.  “I am the good student, dependable, high quality.  I turn things in on time.  I am responsible.  A hard worker!  Where did I come up short?”  How do I get past this sin of “go”?  The one which has stolen my energy, my time, my passion, and, in many cases, my joy?  Where do I go to rekindle a desire for life, a want for intimacy with God, a life set to ‘slow-down’?  Will the world let me have this?  Will I let me have it?  Or will I forever be on the go?

Daddy's Girl... Head on His Chest

I’m a “daddy’s girl”. 

I’m not embarrassed by the fact. [I’m also a “mamma’s girl” and have a great relationship with my mom.] 

But I do have a special relationship with my dad.  We’re wired in similar ways and he “gets” the way my brain ticks better than most.  When I need to whine and vent or I’m sick, I call my mom.  When I need someone to understand where I’m coming from, I call my dad. The story goes that as a babe, it was my dad alone who could get me to sleep when I was really fussy. There is more than one picture with me napping with him as a wee one...Dad asleep in the chair and me sound asleep with him, curled up on his chest. 

It’s not really surprising or really all that ironic (at least to me), that as an adult, when standing next to my dad, my height next to his, my head lays perfectly on his chest.  If I lean into him or he pulls me in for a hug, my head falls perfectly on his chest.  And when I’m having a bad day or a hard day that’s exactly where I want to be...held by my dad, with my head next to his heart.

And I know I am blessed to have a dad who loves and takes care of me so...even as an adult.  I’ve mentored girls with dads who should have stopped contributing after the sperm (because they’ve literally sucked up everything since in every imaginable way).  I have friends who have dads that are decent men...notable members of society...but nothing special or notable in the father department...they can’t and don’t hug or communicate or interact and never really have.   My siblings and I have never had to doubt how much our father loves us.  (Heck as “Papa John”, friends young and old have been given tastes of a father’s love through my own dad.) My dad is a good dad.   

He reminds me often of the love a father is supposed to have for a child.  And he reminds me of, because he mimics, the love of the Father. 

Throughout scripture, and in especially meaningful ways in the New Testament as Christ defines the relationship with Yaweh by referring to Him as “Abba” – a tender term for father (similar to the way I will still occasionally refer to my father as “daddy”) – the love of God for His children is made evident. 

1 John 3:1, in one of my many favorite verses, states “See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!” 

My Heavenly Father is a known good God, but also a good father, a good dad.  Both in Matthew (7:11) and Luke (11:13) the words of Jesus are recounted that say that if evil fathers can give good gifts to their children, how much greater the gifts the Father will give to those who ask!  These verses are found in direct context of Jesus telling his disciples to come to the Father and to seek and to ask and come boldly.  I don’t feel as if it is impertinent to translate this to know that if imperfect fathers can love their children in imperfect but good ways (giving good gifts), God can only love in perfect and good ways... He is a good dad.

Admittedly, when I think of my own dad and think of how this is a reflection of the love God has demonstrated to me, I think of an old Carpenter’s Tools song.  A song that recounts the story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15) and in the chorus the words reiterate “And then He ran to me; He took me in His arms and held my head to His chest...”  In fact scripture (depending on the translation) says that the father ran and “threw his arms around” his son or “embraced” him. (vs. 20).  I know the full theology behind this parable.  I know Jesus was speaking to the Pharisees about their role in the story.  But still, in midst of it all, I see the simple truth: God loves His children and calls them to Himself. 

Some times, when the days are long and life feels hard...when I’m struggling with the pieces in parts, it is this image of God I need to come to.  I know His love and His faithfulness and presence.  I do my best (although fail often) to rely steadily on the One who Is regardless of the day or situation.  And I am thankful and blessed that when life doesn’t make sense...when I can’t fix the pain or the hurt; when I just need One to understand where my heart is sitting, my God knows me as His child and allows me to know Him as a father. There are many pieces of life that don’t make sense right now.  Pieces that hurt.  Pieces of the world that I can’t fix and can’t hold.  I’m thankful that the world has the same opportunity to be held and to be known. That God takes care of His world far better than I can or ever will (turns out, I’m still not God! Hallelujah!).  I am terribly blessed to have a Father God, that much like my daddy, when I come to seek Him; He takes me in His arms and holds my head to His chest...

“What marvelous love the Father has extended to us!  Just look at it – we’re called children of God!  That’s who we really are.  But that’s also why the world doesn’t recognize us or take us seriously, because it has no idea who he is or what he’s up to.  But friends, that’s exactly who we are: children of God.  And that’s only the beginning. Who knows how we’ll end up!  What we know is that when Christ is openely revealed, we’ll see him – and in seeing him, become like him...”  

1 John 3:1-2 [The Message] 

I See You

I see you.

You’re not hidden to me.

I see the parts...

You don’t want me to see.

I see things that are real,

Things that are true.

I see you...

I do.

I see the pieces battered.

The places that hurt and cause shame.

I see you with them...

And I love you the same.

Off in the corner you stand alone,

You question what it’s like to be both loved and known.

Will anyone claim the one with no one to claim?

Or will “not fitting in” be your only grasp on fame?

Know that I see you.

You’re not hidden to me.

I see the parts...

You don’t want me to see.

I see things that are real,

Things that are true.

I see you...

I do.

I see the pieces battered.

The places that hurt and cause shame.

I see you with them...

And I love you the same.

Under the covers you stay...

Sleeping though life and most of your day.

Wishing the clouds would lift and the pain would go away

And you wonder if anyone has noticed you’re not really “okay”.

I noticed; I see you.

You’re not hidden to me.

I see the parts...

You don’t want me to see.

I see things that are real,

Things that are true.

I see you...

I do.

I see the pieces battered.

The places that hurt and cause shame.

I see you with them...

And I love you the same.

You look in the mirror and you sigh.

Though anyone else would question why.

You primp and you fuss and you look on with disgust

Hoping the rest of the world approves of you today. 

My approval came before your sigh because I see you.

You’re not hidden to me.

I see the parts...

You don’t want me to see.

I see things that are real,

Things that are true.

I see you...

I do.

I see the pieces battered.

The places that hurt and cause shame.

I see you with them...

And I love you the same.

The scale is your critic and your judge. 

You base your worth on whether your jeans fit too snug.

You skip a meal and make an excuse,

You’ll be “enough” when there is nothing left to lose...

You’re only losing yourself...but I see you.

You’re not hidden to me.

I see the parts...

You don’t want me to see.

I see things that are real,

Things that are true.

I see you...

I do.

I see the pieces battered.

The places that hurt and cause shame.

I see you with them...

And I love you the same.

Scars line the inside of your wrists, your stomach, your thighs.

The remnants of the hurt and pain you couldn’t cry.

When it became more than you could bear, you turned to your knife.

Bleeding the means and release to saving your life.

The life you grasp for as I see you.

You’re not hidden to me.

I see the parts...

You don’t want me to see.

I see things that are real,

Things that are true.

I see you...

I do.

I see the pieces battered.

The places that hurt and cause shame.

I see you with them...

And I love you the same.

You feel like no one would believe your story so real.

Wouldn’t understand the wounds you still feel.

A body and life violated, disregarded, abused...

Who could ever again love someone marred and used?

I would. And I see you.

You’re not hidden to me.

I see the parts...

You don’t want me to see.

I see things that are real,

Things that are true.

I see you...

I do.

I see the pieces battered.

The places that hurt and cause shame.

I see you with them...

And I love you the same.

Don’t you dare think no one cares.

Don’t you dare think no one’s there.

Lean on me, I’ll hold you tight.

Together we’ll set the world to right...

Because I see you.

You’re not hidden to me.

I see the parts...

You don’t want me to see.

I see things that are real,

Things that are true.

I see you...

I do.

I see the pieces battered.

The places that hurt and cause shame.

I see you with them...

And I love you the same.

AK November 2012

Wheatback Pennies and Worth

I was cleaning up my room this weekend...as I try to do every weekend.   Despite being immaculate at the week’s beginnings, something always happens.  I suspect a series of tornadoes caused by the quickly changing pressure systems in my apartment (aka: the more stressful things are, the more my life has this tendency to spiral and things just sort of fly through the air and land where they may...). 

But, alas, I digress.

Needless, upon picking up, I placed some odds and ends in a small wooden bowl where I tend to keep, well, odd and ends.  At the bottom, however, I noticed a penny.  I thought this interesting.  Pennies have a very particular place in an old Jone’s Soda bottle in my room.  I picked it up, ready to place it in its proper spot, when I realized why I had placed it to the side.  It wasn’t just a normal brown penny. It was, in fact, a 1953 minted Wheatback Penny.

Admittedly, to me, though fascinating (I love “old” things)...still it is worth just about, well, one cent.  Not worthless – I do keep collecting my jar of pennies which I know currently contains several dollars because they add up – but lets face it, no one really misses them when they’re gone.  And my wheat penny?  Had I realized it was missing (not likely as I had forgotten I had it to begin with), its loss would have probably been met with a “bummer” and that, that would have been it.

So, other than the fact it was “cool”, why did I keep it around?  Caleb.  My younger brother Caleb enjoys coins.  He collected/s the state quarters and has a mass assortment of varying coins from varying countries. Initially I had set this penny aside because I knew Caleb would probably appreciate it and see in it a worth that wasn’t in my line of vision or understanding.

Because Caleb appreciates coins, there would have an inherent value in the coin itself, although it wouldn’t surprise me to find he was also well aware of its extended monetary value as well.  In fact, I did a little quick research and discovered that my 1953 S mint wheatback penny is worth, *drum roll please*...

$0.03!

Alright, so despite the fact my penny has increased in value by 300%, it still not worth much... but my brief research also confirmed that depending on the year and rarity potential a wheatback penny, very much like mine, could be worth as much as $1,000,000!!   WHAT???? 

Mind. Blown.

Mostly, because, had I picked up, say, the 1914 D mint penny valued at a much less $1500...I still would have thought its worth to be somewhere around, well, one cent.  Its value would have meant little in the wrong hands.

It makes me wonder, contemplate, and become intrigued by the ideas of “value” and “worth”.  What things have little worth or value in the wrong hands but are of infinite value in the hands of those who can hold, because they know, the true worth?   And I think the end of this query almost always ends not with pennies or things or even ideas or causes...but people. 

It’s not really a new contemplation.  I, admittedly, struggle greatly with the idea of my own worth.  That I have some sort of intrinsic value.  And I have to be reminded of Whose hands I’m in and how my value increases exponentially in the eyes of the One who not only made me but desires me. 

And I have to remind others of the same.  If I truly believe they have worth and value (which I do) – then I should be communicating it. 

Sometimes it’s not so much taking a kid by the shoulders and shaking him/her and proclaiming that their lives mean something.  As a “quality time” person myself, I find time and attention go the longest way with the deepest impact to communicate truth.  Especially to the otherwise “forgotten” in a group or situation.  The forgotten will always look a little different for each person, in each individual’s sphere of influence...teens, old people, babies, marginalized, racially diverse, minorities, special needs (to give very broad categories)...

This was reinforced this morning at church. I, in conjunction and assistance to my best friend, have taken on a youth group at her home church.  Started because, well, Liz saw an unmet need.  A need for the teens to feel like they had a place to connect to feel like they mattered.  So, drenched in prayer we attempted uncharted and uncertain waters...asking for six months to see what would happen...

In the last two months, I’ve grown quite attached to my kids.  Our group of teenagers is a gangly bunch – more closely resembling “The Sandlot” in terms of dynamic personalities and gawky misfits than an expected small-town Sunday School class.  And yet...a half hour after church when we were still chatting with teen six and seven it became apparent.  Apparent how much they blossom over the attention.  We see it every week.  After six weeks, our teens are now excited to see us.  And when they come in quiet and withdrawn, it doesn’t often take us long to draw them out.  Over the last month or two we’ve watched our most consistent teens blossom in little ways...off of shoots and branches others had presumed dead and told us not to expect to much from.  I’m going to be honest and tell you that Liz and I are nothing special as youth leaders...but we are intentional.  And we’ve strove to make sure our group knows they’re important to us. We will go back and smirk and laugh a little when other adults approach us with shock and surprise.  “How did you get B to...??”  “How did you know...??”  “Did they really tell you/show you/joke with you about...??”  “We had no idea!” 

And so comes the answer to the reason Liz started youth group in the first place...because though you held them, you couldn’t see their worth or their value.  Sometimes...it just takes the right set of hands.  The right set of eyes.  The right heart.  The right mission.  Sometimes Liz and I just want to scream.  “Don’t you see it!?  How could you miss it?!  They are so ready, so eager, of so much worth and value.  They just need someone to remind them they are worth valuing; that they shouldn’t be tossed to the side or forgotten; that they would go searching if to go missing not disregarded with a ‘bummer’ if it was noticed they were present or gone at all...” 

What are you holding or what do you have the potential to hold with an immeasurable value that you’ve almost disregarded?  What, or who, when placed in the right hands suddenly has to be seen with a completely different perspective and significance? What do you hold that God already values as of immeasurable worth? (The parable of the lost coin seems especially applicable here...) Do you see it holding the same value?  Is it a friend? Acquaintance? Stranger? Is it you?  On any account...now what?

"But now, God's Message, the God who made you in the first place, Jacob, the One who got you started, Israel: 'Don't be afraid, I've redeemed you.  I've called your name.  You're mine.  When you're in over your head, I'll be there with you. When you're in rough waters, you will not go down. When you're between a roach and a hard place, it won't be a dead end - Because I am God, your personal God, the Holy of Israel, your Savior.  I paid a huge price for you: all of Egypt, wit rich Cush and Seba thrown in!  That's how much you mean to me!  That's how much I love you!  I'd sell off the whole world to get you back, trade the creation just for you..."  Isaiah 43:1-4 MSG

The Mystery of Tie-Dye...

I work at a camp.  One of the classes offered is...tiedye.  As an instructor I taught my fair share of this magical and colorful class and now, as health officer, I have taken on the task of untying them, sending them down to laundry, and sorting them once they come back.  This latter task is new for me and interesting...because now I see the shirts both before...and after.

I’ll admit...the “before” picture is always a little intimidating.  T-shirts in bag still dripping in dye of a brownish-orange-green with clearly arbitrary spots of blue and red speckled through in spiral formation...  My gloved hands attempt to squeeze out some of the pooling mess and I think (and sometimes verbalize) a statement of “Really?  Really???  Did you even try at all??”  A couple weeks ago I looked at blotchy, runny, wadded shirt and, as I pulled off the rubber band and tossed it into the bag to go to laundry I, out loud, proclaimed “I’m sorry all of the other kids are going to make fun of you because you have a terribly ugly shirt!”  

I looked for that shirt as I sorted them into their appropriate cabins a couple days later.  I couldn’t find it.  That always happens.  And in so lies the mystery of tiedye...

Sure, when the campers walk around with their shirts on Thursday night, you can see that some are better than others. Some bolder, some with the colors blended better, some impressively executed.  But you can never tell which ones started out the ugliest.  In fact, some of the best...start off as some of the worst.  I know this...as once I untied a disgusting looking shirt that was a complete hot mess and decide to open it completely to examine before placing it inside the bag to be washed.  Some incredible blend of purples and greens and blues and even some remaining yellow left in an impressive spiral design.  Beautiful in terms of tiedye in fact.  Or, the dripping red intestinal looking (before unbinding) bull’s-eye pattern which came out with an awesome purple bursting design with red and pink-white rings.  Who would of thought?  Not me. 

It frustrates me...which I realize is silly.  But it’s just these 5^th and 6^th grade little monsters aren’t even really trying and look at the outcome!  I think about my own tiedye shirts I have made and wear as part of staff.  I think of how meticulously I planned the design and colors.  How carefully I applied the dye and mixed shades.  How adequate but unimpressive my shirts look in the end. Why did I try so hard??  Once last week I pulled open a t-shirt and fantasized about giving a blank, white shirt to a 6^th grader and letting them go to town to create for me one of their disastrous masterpieces. The irony of it all! 

And some part of me can’t help but think this is real life.  A disastrous masterpiece.  And because the “connector” in me loves to see parallels, there are some bits of truth in this tiedye mystery... 

1. Planning doesn’t necessarily dictate outcome.  Don’t get me wrong...you can always tell the kids that put in a lot of time and effort and tried hard.  Their shirts often look great.  But just because it looked great wound up, won’t mean it ends up looking awesome.  It, in fact, doesn’t even guarantee that it will look better than one that started off as a hot mess.  And, perhaps more importantly, just because it looks like a hot mess doesn’t mean it’s destined to be forever ridiculed as ugly.  This can be frustrating.  Everyone knows someone who “does nothing” but whose life seems to be so flawlessly perfect or everything goes their way while those who try and sweat and plan wonder what’s going wrong.  As one who needs control I want to be able to do something with intention and expect a given result.  But not all of life is in my control.  Even if I want it.  Life is still about surrender...

2. “Don’t judge a book(/shirt) by its cover(/prewashed wad)” gets proven yet again.  Beautiful things come from incredibly disastrous things.  I shouldn’t need to be reminded of this.  Much of my life is a testimony to the fact God works in and through the ugly to provide something of incredible splendor...even if I’m slow to realize it.  Sometimes one has to wait and see how things come out in the wash.  Literally. Sometimes stains and scars are the best witness to God’s grace and faithfulness in the midst of life and its storms. 

3. Beauty is the eye of the beholder.  I can smile and nod at the green/brown blotchy result as I tell a student their t-shirt is very unique when they ask me excitedly what I think....all the while trying to hide an inside cringe... And yet he is pumped and proclaiming “this is exactly what I was hoping it would look like!”  ‘A bowel movement?’ I want to question (but don’t of course).  I don’t make others’ shirts for them.  And I don’t live lives for others either.  Although sometimes I want to do both!  But in the end, it’s probably a good thing. I’m not them. I would botch their design.  Every shirt will be unique as the student who designed it; no two shirts will ever be the same... Diversity is beautiful. 

4. You might be surprised by what you find in the folds.  Just this week someone made what was really an innocent comment.  I smiled and nodded and thought “you never would have said that if you really knew me...”  What looks like an exceptional dyed shirt could be merely so-so or less than such...or beautiful on the surface and white underneath – shallow.  And, on the same token, an otherwise ugly shirt can surprise everyone with deep hues and bold designs.  It just depends...on what is revealed when the shirt is unfolded.  People are like that.  And everyone has folds, layers.  Piece hidden beneath the surface.  Everyone encountered has a story.  Some of them will be harder to stomach than one’s own.  

5. If you’re completely clean, you probably did it wrong.  The instructors on our staff who create the best tiedye and arguably the best instructors of it, rarely leave unscathed.  Their hands are dyed...despite gloves.  There are speckles on their face and a blotch on their jeans. (One coworker once proclaimed that she no longer owned a pair of jeans without a hint of tiedye).  Tiedying can be done “respectfully” (as we tell our students) but it is messy!  Intrinsically messy.  The more involved you get, the messier you get.  And you’re going to end up stained.  But it’s almost always worth it.  Life's messy.  And those who "do life" well are often marked by the journey.  There is something said to be living life to it’s fullest...

And there is something to be said for every disastrous masterpiece...

Imitation vs. Intimacy

I spent time recently working on some curriculum for my youth around the idea of “Storyline”...this whole idea that the story of Christ feeds in and through scripture and we have been grafted into the story.  Our story becomes part of Christ’s story and Christ’s story gets lived out through our lives, our stories.  And I decided to start the story at the beginning (a very good place to start).  Genesis.  Where the scene is set, the setting established, key characters named (aka: God and, for my purposes, generic man and woman made in the image of God – as generic man and woman created in the image of God are the continuing although ever changing characters in God’s ongoing narrative), and the plot alluded to in every meaningful way. 

I was working out my outline and got to Genesis 3.  Where Satan (the behind-the-scenes antagonist) enters the picture.  Here are Adam and Eve in perfect, naked bliss.  And Satan, disguised as the serpent, throws them a curve ball with a temptation.  A bite from the tree of good and evil.  He tempts them with the one thing they don’t have.  And the ironic thing is...they don’t have it because without that choice, it doesn’t exist!  Pefect.naked.bliss. Perfection!  They can’t know the difference between good and evil because there is no evil!  There is no difference!  God knows.  And Adam and Eve choose that to know what God knows would be better than what they now have...an existence where God walks with them in the garden in the cool of the day.  In in a moment, in a bite, they choose imitation over intimacy. 

 . 

Imitation over intimacy.

They choose to be like God instead of to be with God.  They were made for relationship with the Almighty.  WE were made for relationship with the Almighty!  Built into the core of who we are is a craving and longing for connection with the supernatural because it was wired into the purpose of existence!  But perfect relationship was traded for imperfect knowledge.  Before Genesis 3 even comes to an end, we see God hint to a bigger plan.  The plan that, in retrospect, we can see alluding to the coming of Christ, the coming of a Messiah.  One who would save humankind from their sins and *drum roll please* restore relationship! 

Seems basic.  Maybe even “old school” theology.  Not real deep.  Not above the obvious for a sub par biblical scholar.  So what’s the point?  It seems basic but it caught me profoundly and new though the story be told hundreds of times.  I have always taken the basic reality of the actuality and attributed my post-New-Testament choice...  “I have Jesus,” I’ve always thought – far too easily, “I made a choice to accept the price, the mercy, the grace, and the conquering over the grave and therefore I have restored relationship.  It’s come full circle.”  Wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong because there is no full circle. (Unless the circle starts back over with me destroying restored relationship.)  Wrong because I almost daily fall into the old but new pattern of choosing imitation over intimacy.   I choose to be like God instead to be with Him.  I choose to be my own god (isn’t that what Adam and Eve wanted, to be on par with their creator?) and make my own choices and seal my own demise while doing things just so and so rather than live inside of restored relationship.  I want to know things I shouldn’t know...I worry instead of trust and harbor instead of forgive (both instances where I know the difference between good and evil and still live outside of relationship...).  I have Jesus but in a moment, I push aside the intimacy I was created for.  I choose to be like God instead...a temptation with no real fulfillment. 

Oh, sure, it looks different now.  I call myself a Christian, you know.  I believe that my attitude should be the same as Christ Jesus (Philippians 2) and that whatever I do, I should for the glory of God (1 Corinthians 10).  I am a firm believer that asking yourself honestly “What Would Jesus Do?” and responding accordingly is without question necessary.  James says faith without works is dead.  Absolutely. Actions matter.  Looking the part - not without merit.  And yet I think I need to be reminded that works without faith is flattery on the verge of mockery.  Imitation crab.  Cheap, processed, substitute lacking any of the reality.  Oh, yes, I want to look and act like Jesus. Truly. But I’m not in relationship in such a way as to know how He would have me mirror Him. And that's the problem.  

I am still trading intimacy for imitation.  I want to look like Jesus, but I don’t really even “carve” out the time for the One who should be infiltrating my every moment.  I end up little more than a white-washed tomb and goody-goody Pharisee of Jesus’ day...convinced I’m closer to God because I look the part.  But I really do want to look like Jesus! I want you to look at me and see Jesus. I want you to know that I’m a Christian because of my love (John 13).  I want you to know the power of Christ over death in the resurrection (Romans 1).  I want you to know me to be merciful and gracious and humble and a servant and...  That’s all well and good.  It is.  But looking like Jesus and being intimately connected to the God of the universe?  Oh, those are two separate things.

The interesting part is that intimacy breeds imitation. (Imitation will almost never intrinsically breed intimacy – “who cares? I basically look the part anyway?”)  It doesn’t take an Einstein to figure this out.  Just look at couples who have been married for 20 years... Long before they get to the matching jogging suit stage, they physically start to resemble each other.  Science has actually proved this!  And that is just one off handed example. 

For another basic personal anecdote...my best friend, Liz, has an eyebrow. Two actually.  But when she seeks to show her displeasure, disdain, or overall unsatisfied confusion with whatever is being displayed before her eyes (often something I’ve said), she raises just one eyebrow.  And purses her lips.  And brings her chin to the side as if to make eye contact more specifically and to say “Really?  REALLY?”   If you know Liz, you know exactly what I’m talking about.  She does this.  And now, because I spend quite a bit of time with her, I do it too.  I didn’t start making faces in the mirror and practicing before leaving the house one morning.  I didn’t think “I would like to claim that face she makes”.  In fact, I hadn’t even realized I had picked it up until I was with Liz and proceeded to give something her own wiry look and she declared “That’s my face!  That’s my look!  I do that!” A

The more time you spend with someone; the more intimately you’re connected to someone; the more you begin to pick up on his or her isms.  Habits.  Character.  Nature.  It’s just the same with God.  How could it not be?  Intimacy is the original design.  A design where the key secondary characters were made in the very likeness of God.  Made to resemble God.  (And so the greatest spawns the lesser).  And such is the time spent abiding in intimate relationship with the only One who both knows and loves me fully. 

Today will I choose to imitate or be intimate?  To hide or to abide?  

"So come with me, I'll show you life even better than this. Come with me, I'll show you love, you didn't know could exist. Better than your first crush; better than your first kiss.  I'll show you how to live..."
 - Sanctus Real