The Things I Won't Let Anyone Steal

"Star Trek V: The Final Frontier" is arguably the worst Star Trek film ever. But what can you expect when William Shatner writes, directs, and portrays a character who boldly goes on a mission to defeat "God"? It really is sad, especially after the epic brilliance of "Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home," in which Leonard Nimoy writes, directs, and portrays a character who knocks out a rude punk bus passenger, masters the use of colorful metaphors, saves the whales AND humanity, and also looks pretty smashing walking the mid-1980s San Francisco streets in a bathrobe. But I digress....

"Star Trek V" was a stinker, but there's a scene in it that I kind of like. In case you haven't seen the flick (you're not missing much), here's some background:

Sybok, Spock's long, lost half-brother has hijacked the Enterprise. He's a Vulcan, but has renounced the logical ways of his people and embraced emotion. His big thing is "sharing pain." He does some kind of psychic Vulcan mind trick to make people relive their most painful experiences, and he pretty much brainwashes people into following his "pain sharing" cult. And then they all go frolic off into the unknown to meet God...but not really. It's actually some kind of alien thing that was using Sybok. Or something. I think.

Honestly, I don't really have a clue what was going on in that movie. And I don't know if Shatner did either. I think Shatner just wanted to beat God. Because he's the Shatner.

But, yeah, Shatner did have a pretty good line in the movie. Sybok had gotten to Bones and Spock, making them "share their pain." But when it was Shatner's...uh...Captain Kirk's turn, he said something deep and brilliant. Because the Shatner wanted him to:

(remember to say it in a Shatner voice)

"You know that pain and guilt can't be taken away with a wave of a magic wand. They're the things we carry with us, the things that make us who we are. If we lose them, we lose ourselves. I don't want my pain taken away! I need my pain!"

Now, I have never met an emotional Vulcan brainwasher with delusions of finding God on a distant planet, but I've met a lot of people who remind me of Sybok. Like Sybok, they think they're doing good things. They think they're helping. But, in an unusual sense of the phrase, they are "identity thieves."

These are good people (as good as any of us can be) with good intentions. They aren't hacking passwords or stealing credit card numbers or illegally obtaining social security numbers.

They are just guilty of getting all up in people's KoolAid without even knowing the flavor.

And I really think these kinds of "identity thieves" are well-intentioned. They meddle because they genuinely care. And that should be acknowledged and even appreciated, but it can't be an excuse for someone to "fix" a friend or his/her problems.

I'm not talking about burden-bearing. Scripture is clear that we are to care about one another and take care of one another. But it's one thing to come alongside someone, listen, and pray, and it's another thing to try to make another person's problems disappear. Especially when one doesn't really know all the details.

And, to make this personal, I've had a lot of people try to fix me without really ever listening to me. So they don't really even know or understand what it is they're trying to fix. And if they did, they would probably realize that it can't be fixed, and doesn't really need to be fixed even if it could be.

I'm an anxious, awkward person. No really. I mean, hello! I started this blog post a with a Star Trek reference. I'm awkward, okay.

Back in middle school, high school, even early college, I would have agreed with anyone who said that I needed to change. I would have agreed that my anxiety in social/unfamiliar situations was the result of me letting fear overcome my faith, of sin. I know I would have agreed with anyone who said that, because I DID agree with people who said that.

But as I've gotten older and slightly more comfortable in my skin, I've come to the pretty clear conclusion that I will NEVER stop being awkward. I'll ALWAYS be uncomfortable, and even to some degree, suppressed in unfamiliar situations.

It's not sinfulness to be socially awkward. And while it's not always desirable, it's part of who I am. It's something about me that is unique and even beautiful. Sometimes it makes life harder, but life isn't supposed to be easy. And if someone tries to tell me, usually in a misguided attempt at encouragement, that I'm not awkward, I will fiercely defend my awkwardness. I won't let people try to steal that.

And I know that seems odd to some people, but I learned a long time ago that I am not a strong person. I don't buy into the "believe in yourself" junk that after school specials tried to feed me for most of my childhood. It sounds so good, and maybe if I wasn't so awkward, I might have less trouble believing it.

But God has made me, and I believe God wants me to be awkward. I believe God wants me to be weak. I believe God wants me to believe in Him and not in myself. I believe God has purposes for my anxiety, for my social awkwardness, and I won't let anyone try to steal those things away from me.

And another thing I won't let people steal is my pain. I'll admit, compared to a lot of people, my life's pain is pretty minimal. But to make a long story short and to not go into details that involve others who might not want their story shared, just know that I got my heart broken. It was a little over 8 years ago. And it involved a lot of other painful details that pretty much make it the saddest part of my life.

But the thing is, it was also the most beautiful part my life.

And I don't share that story much because, well it was a long time ago. People never did like to hear me moan on and on about it. Plus, I've healed enough to where I don't need to talk about it much.

But a few years ago, when the wound was fresher, I did need to talk about it. But there were precious few who would listen, really, really listen.

Most of what I got from people was about a minute of half-hearted listening followed by a five minute sermon about why I should move on and how I deserved "God's best" and about how sinful it was to look in the past and rob myself of future joy.

People, for the most part, wanted to fix me instead of really listening to me. And let me tell you, that is one if the most frustrating things in the world. And it hurts me to see it happen to other people, to see well-meaning "identity thieves" trying to "pain share" without really investing anything more than their uninformed, misguided opinion.

Because sometimes "God's best" doesn't look like what we think it should look like. And sometimes God allows or hearts to be broken because that's part of who He wants us to be. And if anyone, however well-meaning, tries to steal away my heartbroken, rejected identity, I will fiercely defend it.

And that might be hard for some to understand. And quite frankly, I don't care whether people understand or not. Understanding isn't as important as respect.

If I, or someone else, was doing something destructive or not following God, then yes, by all means there should be some intervention. That's not meddling; that's biblical brotherly love.

But here's the thing. The pain I have from being rejected is part of who I am, but it doesn't keep me from reaching out and risking to love others. My anxiety and awkwardness don't keep me from stepping out in faith and trying new things. Nothing that the world deems negative is anything that holds me back.

Fear and faith are going to be a constant struggle. They just are. The pain of rejection is always going to haunt me, threatening to make me shy away from reaching it to others. It just is.

But my weaknesses are not as the world sees them, and maybe other people's weaknesses aren't as you see them.

And what's more is that there is mercy in the struggle.

I serve the God who uses the weak to shame the strong, the foolish to shame the wise, and those that aren't to shame the things that are. 

It's actually a good thing that I am weak, and I WILL boast I'm my weaknesses. For when I am weak, He is strong.

And no one can steal that away.

I Am NOT Strong

You sense it.  I sense it.  We all sense it.  It's that pressure from society that tells us we have to be strong.  It's that pressure from society that tells us we have to have it all together, that tells us we have to look our best, be our best, outperform everyone else, and just generally be awesome in every possible way. 

And if society isn't telling us to be strong, then we're telling ourselves that we have to be strong.  We believe we have to be the best parent, the best spouse, the best friend, the best worker, the best whatever, and there is absolutely no room for error. 

And if for some reason we can't be this perfectly strong person, we buckle down and give into depression, despair, and guilt.  We trick ourselves into believing we live in a world made up of people who have it all together, and if we can't have it all together, too, then we're failures.  We either stop trying and succumb to mediocrity--or worse, or we put on a bold face, try harder, and proclaim to the world that we are STRONG.

Sometimes these proclamations don't come in words.  Sometimes we proclaim our strength by putting on our best clothes and make up, trying to look the part that we're playing.  Sometimes we proclaim it by doing things to attract attention.  Sometimes we proclaim it by trying to make others look weaker than us.  Sometimes we proclaim it by attacking anything that threatens our facades of strength, or anything that even suggests that we're not like all those imaginary people who have it all together.

It's not fun being weak.  It means we can't save ourselves.  It means that we have to rely on others--when it often so much more pleasant to be the person upon which others rely.  It means we have to face the ugliness in the mirror as being our own.  It means that we are broken, and it means that we can't do a blasted thing to fix our own brokenness.

When we reach that place of brokenness, it's often easier to pretend it isn't there.  It's often easier to proclaim, however it is we proclaim it, that WE ARE NOT WEAK; WE ARE STRONG.  It's comforting to hear ourselves proclaim this, but after a while, our own voice sounds pretty unconvincing.  There's no truth to it. 

We aren't strong.  We are weak. 

Paul was a pretty awesome guy.  He spoke eloquently; he was a good leader.  He knew what he believed and knew how to speak and write about it.  He was a Law-abiding Jew, one who had studied the Law and upheld it, one who had been through much persecution and prevailed.  Yet, Paul knew that he was weak, and he did not run away from it.

"...there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 12:7-10 (emphasis mine)


I think sometimes we'd like to rewrite what Paul said there.  I think we'd like to say, "...I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me, and immediately He did.  He said to me, "Because you belong to Me, I'm going to give you strength so you can be strong and never have to deal with weakness again."  Therefore, I will boast that I am STRONG, because power rests on me.  That is why, for my own sake, I delight in being strong.  For I. AM. STRONG."

Sounds great...but that's not what Paul said. 

I've been spared from a lot of hardship that other people have had to face, but I've suffered some rejection in my life.  I've been rejected, and that rejection has become part of my identity.  When I look in the mirror, part of what I see is named "Rejected."  It would be comfortable to deny this part of myself, but I won't deny it, and I don't believe Christ denies it. 

"Rejected" isn't the only name I have, nor is it the most important name I have.  The most important name I have is "Beloved Child of God."  When I look in the mirror, that identity overwhelms everything else that I see.  It's just that when God claimed me as His child, He didn't remove the rejection.  He doesn't deny what I've been through or the pain it has caused me.  He hasn't fixed that broken part of me and made it all shiny and new so that everyone who sees me sees something perfect and strong.

See, one of the things that I find the most confusing about God is that He doesn't love us in spite of our weakness.  He just loves us.  He loves us as we are.  He doesn't give us His strength and just banish all the pain of our past, present, and future.  He gives us His strength daily to live for Him within the contexts of our weaknesses.  I can be "Rejected" and "Beloved" all at the same time, just as Paul could be "Weak" and "Strong" at the same time. 

"Rejected" isn't my only name, my only weakness.  I'm far too easily discouraged.  I'm overly sensitive.  I have no tact.  I don't speak well--especially not in situations where I'm uncomfortable.  I have a short fuse.  I get emotional too easily.  I freak out when I don't know what's expected of me or if I don't know how to behave.  I have no gumption.  I use the word awesome too much.  I make poor decisions and let people walk all over me.  I AM WEAK.

God is using me--not in spite of all these things.  He's working through them, using me as I am, using even my weaknesses for His glory.  I have no gumption, and I'm easily discouraged, but I still believe that I'm going to get my writing published someday.  When I do, I won't be able to praise myself for my talent or myself for the process of getting published.  I'm weak, but I serve a God who uses the weak and foolish to shame the strong and wise (1 Corinthians 1:27).  That's my only hope, yet that is a great hope.

I believe that God can and does receive glory through all of the things that He's allowed me to walk through, both the good and the bad.  If I were perfect, if I'd never been hurt, if I was able to do everything right and never mess up, if I just had a holy dose of strength that never allowed me to be exposed to weakness or pain again, then I would think that I have no need for Christ's daily provision.  And I don't think Christ would be glorified in a pious people continually walking in perfect strength.  Rather, I think Christ is more glorified through a group of needy individuals who reach and strive daily for Him and His grace.

I'm not strong.  I am weak.  And I can boast about that, not because there's anything amazing about me--but because my God is amazing.  He redeems my weaknesses and gives me strength in the midst of them. 

I'd like to share a video by a guy named Jason Gray.  Jason Gray is a pretty cool guy, from what I've seen and heard.  He's got so much better guitar skills than I'll ever have, and he's got an amazing voice.  At least, he's got an amazing voice when he sings.  Jason Gray has a speech impediment.  He stutters uncontrollably while he's speaking, but the impediment does not affect his singing at all.  In a world that shuns weakness and embraces strength, it might be easier for Jason Gray to keep the talking to a minimum and just sing.  But he does speak about his stuttering--he stutters about his stuttering.  He proclaims his weakness, boasts in His weakness, knowing that God can use his example to encourage others and to give Himself glory.  And God is using Jason Gray, not because he is strong, but because he's a weak person who can only be strong in Christ. 

...and he has a really awesome purple plaid shirt.  I also have an awesome purple plaid shirt.  I think everyone should have an awesome plaid purple shirt...


So what are your weaknesses?  What are some ways that God has worked through your weaknesses to reveal His perfect power?

I AM a Writer

I was at church the other day, when I happened to spot my friend Heather. I walked up to her and gave her a hug, as I tend to do. She hugged me back, then turned to one of her friends who was visiting.

"This is my friend Ruth," she said happily. "She's a writer!"

For some completely bizarre reason, this caught me off guard. I think I did a double, perhaps even a triple take before finally nodding to Heather's friend. "Yes," I replied uncertainly. "I'm a writer."

I've been writing since I was about eight years old. True, I've only been seriously writing for the past nine years or so. I've only been actively writing for the past four years or so. I've only been purposefully writing for the past two years or so. Even so, I should be well accustomed to the fact that, yes, I am a writer.

The thing is, when I meet new people, I don't typically introduce myself as a writer. If they ask me what I do for a living, I tell them I work with kids. Maybe, if we talk long enough, I'll mention my writing. I wonder why that is.

There's probably several explanations. I don't always like the reactions I get from people when they first learn I'm a writer. Some are really nice about it, and some TRY to be nice and fail. What bothers me the most is when people hear I'm a writer and immediately say, "Oh, wow! Will you let me read your stuff?"

Um...that just makes me feel as though that people think I'm not ever going to be published. Yes, you can absolutely read my stuff, once it's available for the you and the rest of the world to read. Ugh, seriously...it's such an awkward question for an aspiring writer to be asked. It's almost as awkward as the question, "So what do you write about?" Shudder.

I think another reason why I don't automatically tell people I'm a writer is that I'm still getting into this mindset that this is the life I want. I want to be a writer--nay, I want to be an author. The two words carry slightly different meanings. I can be a writer right now, but I can't truly be an author until I've gotten something published. And honestly, the idea of being an author, while exhiliarating, is also quite frightening. It's work; real work. I didn't really understand that until I started looking into it. Even if I snag an agent, I'm going to have to continuously write and meticulously edit and probably do some publicity/marketing stuff--yikes. I have no idea what it all involves, because I'm not there yet.

But I need to get into that mindset.

So my challenge for myself is that I won't be surprised when friends introduce me to people as "a writer." ...in fact, I'm going to take that one step further and try to introduce myself as a writer. It's part of my identity, and I really need to start acting like it.