Do you know me? Do I know me?

Life goes on.  Some days are great, some are good, others okay, and a few are pretty low.  And many days are a combination of any or all of the preceding.

This article has been around for quite some time.  I have never seen it attributed to anyone in particular.  (If I ever find out, I will give credit where it is due.)

PLEASE HEAR WHAT I’M NOT SAYING

Don’t be fooled by me.  Don’t be fooled by the face I wear.  For I wear a mask, I wear a thousand masks, masks that I’m afraid to take off, and none of them are me.

Pretending is an art that is second nature with me, but don’t be fooled.  Please.  Don’t be fooled.

I give you the impression that I’m secure, that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without; that confidence is my name and coolness is my game; that the waters are calm and that I’m in command and I need no one.  But don’t believe me; please don’t believe me.

My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my mask, my ever-varying and ever-concealing mask.  Beneath it lies no smugness, no coolness, no complacence.  Beneath dwells the real me, in confusion, in fear, in loneliness.  But I hide this; I don’t want anybody to know it.  I panic at the thought of my weakness being exposed.  That’s why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a nonchalant sophisticated façade to help me pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows.  But such a glance is precisely my salvation.  My only salvation.  And I know it.  It’s the only thing that can liberate me from myself, from my own self-built prison walls, from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect.

But I don’t tell you this.  I don’t dare.  I’m afraid to.

I’m afraid your glance will not be followed by love and acceptance.  I’m afraid that you will think less of me, that you’ll laugh, and your laugh will kill me.  I’m afraid that deep down inside I’m nothing, that I’m just no good, and that you’ll see the real me and reject me.

So I play my games, my desperate, pretending games, with a façade of assurance on the outside and a trembling child within.  And so begins the parade of masks, the glittering but empty parade of masks.  And my life becomes a front.

I idly chatter with you in the suave tones of surface talk.  I tell you everything that’s really nothing, nothing of what’s crying within me.  So when I’m going through my routine, don’t be fooled by what I’m saying.  Please listen carefully and try to hear what I’m NOT saying; what I’d like to be able to say; what, for survival, I need to say but I can’t say.  I dislike the hiding.  Honestly I do.  I dislike the superficial phony games I’m playing.

I’d really like to be genuine, spontaneous, and me; but you have to help me.  You have to help me by holding out your hand, even when that’s the last thing I seem to want or need.  Each time you are kind and gentle and encouraging, each time you try to understand because you really care, my heart begins to grow wings.  Very small wings.  Very feeble wings.  But wings.  With your sensitivity and empathy and your power of understanding, I can make it.  You can breathe life into me.  It will not be easy for you.  A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.  But love is stronger than strong walls, and therein lies my hope.  Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands, but with gentle hands, for a child is very sensitive, and I AM a child.

Who am I, you may wonder?

I am someone you know very well.  For I am every man, every woman, every child… every human you will ever meet.

Anonymous

I don’t agree with the sentiment of a knowing glance being my salvation, “my only salvation.”  True salvation is different and real.  But to interpret the author’s words as being a first step to friendship, to hope, is an idea I can generally agree with.

So, am I posting this on a day when I’m okay so I can be an encouragement to others? Or am I down and looking for a friend? I’m not sure of the answer myself.

I do remember, Love Wins!

Letting it out

Sometimes I have a hard time expressing myself in the right way(s).  This comes out differently in various situations:

• Not keeping my frustration in check when calling up customer service, especially with technical/computer issues.  (I’m sure some have wanted to tell me to “shut up and reboot” – or just “shut up.”)
• Not gracefully accepting help when playing games on my computer. (Ooh – put the black 7 on the red 8.)
• Not responding truthfully when someone asks “How are you doing?”

One way I try to handle this challenge is to think through the potential conversation in advance, so that I can choose words that convey what I mean, without using trigger words that set people off (“You always/never,” “Why don’t you,” etc.).  My problem is, I often don’t get the conversation out of my head.  I try out alternatives to find the best words.  When nothing seems to be quite right, I move on to a different task.  Rather than address the situation, I just let it fizzle out inside of me.  Maybe this is how I am now “stuffing” my feelings, although I thought I was past that.

I want to be real, to be authentic.  I want to be able to share my thoughts and feelings with the people in my life.  Please allow me a little time to put my thoughts into words, and grant me a little grace as I try to communicate them.

Discovering Beauty Does Not Equal Achieving Perfection

One of my long-term projects at work was helping my boss update the previous version of his book, The On-Purpose Person.  We went through several revisions.  Once it was completed, it was sent to the publisher.  There were a few more rounds of edits.  When the time came to approve the final galley proofs, my husband and I were in the middle of our cross-country move.  I didn’t get the opportunity to give the text a final look to catch any errors.  Once we arrived at our destination, I was too nervous to look at the document, for fear of finding any errors.

I received the printed copies I requested, and I was still nervous about looking at the printed text.  I so wanted to see a book without any typos or errors.  Alas, it was not to be.  While few, there are some mistakes in the book.  I felt somewhat discouraged, feeling like my reputation as a proofreader was tarnished.

It is hard to find a book anywhere that does not contain at least one printing error.  (I even found one in my Bible once, although it was nothing that changed the meaning of the words.)  I am still learning how to let go of my perfectionistic tendencies.  No person, no book is perfect.  And that’s okay.

Life can be like a book.  Our stories are told, and not one of them is perfect.  It is good to strive for excellence, but realize that perfection is impossible.  Our flaws make us unique and human.  Thinking it over, I’d rather be this way than stiff and fake.

If you would like to see the updated and revised edition of The On-Purpose Person, click here.

No longer missing

Despite evidence to the contrary, I am still on the planet.  With everything that has been occurring over the past few months (prepping and staging a house to sell, open houses and showings, selling a house, packing and moving across country, and settling into a new location; plus deadlines at work), I have not made myself write anything.  Some days I was too exhausted.  Other days, just didn’t know what to say.  Many thoughts bounced around in my head, but nothing crystal clear.

This cross-country move has brought me back home (quite literally, moving in with Mom to help her out a bit).  Over the past 11+ years, I have grown a great deal.  Many experiences gave many opportunities for learning.  This was brought home to me in an interesting way.

I was visiting a friend a few days ago, and noticed some photos she had posted on her refrigerator.  I recognized her and two other friends in the photo, but couldn’t quite figure out the fourth person.  I knew she looked familiar.  After staring at the photo for a moment, I started to recognize myself.  It was really weird that I didn’t instantly realize it was a picture of me.  The picture was 10 years old.  Yes, my hairstyle had changed a bit, but nothing drastic.  It was something about the face.  There was a slight emptiness or hollowness about it.  There was a smile at my mouth, but not so much in my eyes.

Since that photo was taken, I have gone through some counseling and recovered from depression.  There is now more light in my eyes.  (Not to sound conceited, but I believe I look better now – ten years later – than I did then.)  I am so thankful for making the effort to get better.  I now have more confidence and purpose in my life.

The Greatest of These

Often in church leadership meetings where the people are discussing their purpose, vision, missions, and/or values, many will state that the reason they exist is to follow The Great Commission: “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age. (Matthew 28:19-20)“  It is important to tell others about God and Christ, but many people forget the first lesson.

Earlier in the same Gospel, Jesus is asked what the Greatest Commandment is. 

Jesus replied: ”‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”  (Matthew 22:37-39)

First, we are to love God with everything we’ve got, every part of ourselves.  Then as we love God and know that He loves us, we can share that love with our neighbors - any human being with whom we come into contact.  If we don’t love people first, they won’t care to hear that God loves them.  A common saying is “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.”  To paraphrase that, “People won’t listen about God’s love for them if they think you don’t care about them, too.”

This is one thing that excites me about C3.  There are so many people sharing their lives with others, and inviting them to visit.  It’s about relationships – not religion.  After all, Love Wins.

Hanging on through the hurt

I am thankful for the healing I have received.  While I get discouraged from time to time, I don’t find myself in the dark places where my mind once dwelled.  It’s nice that those memories have faded, but I can still recall the feelings, even though they don’t have the same intensity.

I came across a quote recently, and I find encouragement in it.  It is by Dr. Paul Brand, who is renowned for his work with leprosy patients. Brand responded to the question, “Where is God when it hurts?” with this: “He is in you, the one hurting, not in it, the thing that hurts.”  Yes, God is with us!

A family in our church recently suffered a loss through suicide.  I cannot imagine the pain truly involved.  One thing that kept me from following through on my suicidal thoughts was thinking through the pain that my parents and others would have felt.  I couldn’t bear that outcome.  I hung on a little longer and made it through one more day, and then another.

I have a book title The Art of Helping by Lauren Littauer Briggs.  The subtitle is “What to Say and Do When Someone is Hurting.”  The books lists dozens of life situations where people can hurt, each with its own chapter.  I looked up the chapter on Loss By Suicide, and found a wonderful contribution.

One of the best responses to a suicide that I have ever heard came through a sermon delivered by the pastor of a young man who shot himself.  With great eloquence, his pastor was able to convey tremendous hope through these words: “Our friend died on his own battlefield.  He was killed in action, fighting a civil war.  He fought against adversaries that were as real to him as his casket is real to us.  They were powerful adversaries.  They took a toll on his energies and endurance.  They exhausted the last vestiges of his courage, and only God knows how this child of His suffered in the silent skirmishes that took place in his soul.”  (Originally published in “Helping Survivors Survive” by Victor M. Parachin, Bereavement Magazine, January, 1991.)

Those words ring so true to the inner battles I once faced.  I pray for this family as they come to mind.

One closing thought.  “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” - Plato

Where is the music?

I was reading Simplify Your Spiritual Life by Donald S. Whitney and came upon this quote:

A songless Christian is a contradiction in terms, for the Bible describes God’s people as those who say, “He has put a new song in my mouth — praise to our God” (Psalm 40:3).  If he has put that new song in your mouth, sing it every day.

Music and singing have always been a big part of my life.  I was always in the children’s choir at church, and as soon as I was old enough, I joined the adult choir.  I was often there during rehearsals when I was young because my mom was there, and later my dad joined too.

My mom used to sing around the house while going about her daily tasks.  I don’t recall exactly when, but she didn’t do it much anymore.  A couple of years ago, she told me she stopped singing when she knew there was someone around (me) who really knew how to sing.  While my mom did not have the confidence to sing a solo, she could carry a tune just fine.

I have not been singing as much lately.  I’m not on any worship team at church.  Now my voice feels a little out of shape – don’t think I could hit those Sandi Patty-esque high notes now!  Music is the language of my heart.  I need to encourage the songs to come out again.

Are you encouraging your heart to sing?

I can do something

I am only one – but I am one.
I can’t do everything, but I can do something.
That I can do I ought to do.
And what I ought to do
by the grace of God
I shall do.      -  Edward Hale

Yes, I can do something.  At this moment, I’m not sure what that is.  My thoughts are scattered and scrambled.  Too many tasks and stresses are all around me (literally, as I look around my desk).

Every week I can do something.  Every day I can do something.  Every hour I can do something.  Something good.  Like giving my husband a hug.  It’s a great place to start!

Jury Duty and People Watching

I had the privilege (yes, privilege) to report for jury duty.  Our country has a great justice system that, when practiced properly, works well.  I just wish it didn’t start so early in the morning.  I packed my bag with a book to read, some puzzles to play, and my lunch.  They say to dress appropriately for court, so I wore something business casual that was also comfortable for sitting long periods of time.

While sitting in the juror holding room, my mind went to the thought of which of two T-shirts would be more fun to wear to jury duty: one with the logo of “Love Wins” or one that states “Barbaric Grace”?  (Both shirts are from the church I attend.)

Most people brought laptops or something to read or work on.  The court also provides magazines and books if you need something.  Some people talked with their neighbors a bit.  Thankfully, no one talked loudly on a cell phone for an extended period of time.  It was kind of fun to watch various people.

One guy brought in a newspaper and read it for a while.  He got up for a short break and to go get a drink.  Before leaving, he wrote his name on his newspaper.  While he was away, another guy sits down at the small table and starts to read the paper.  The first guy somes back to claim his paper, so the second guy gives it to him.  Guy #1 finished reading the paper, and then takes it to put it on a bookshelf twenty feet away instead of giving it to guy #2 who is sitting at the same table.  A third gentleman sitting nearby has his number called, so he gives his paper to guy #2, who thanks him.

Sounds like “Love Wins” to me.

A Little Corny

I’ll admit to coming from Southern country roots.  (We are not a family of rednecks, however.)  I remember watching a lot of “Hee Haw” when I was younger.  Yes, the jokes were corny, and those on the show were aware of that and used that to their advantage.  That’s why so many of the jokes were told out in the cornfield.  The show also had some great guests on as well.

I could say that I come by my appreciation of such humor honestly.  We sometimes call my mom corny; her parents paid the doctor in corn when she was born.  My dad’s birth was paid for with a pig, and he could occasionally be a ham.

Enjoy this little clip!  It’s okay to laugh, even if you’re not country.