It's not going to come as a surprise to most of you reading this that I am the total opposite. I am incredibly whimsical, passionate, and at times irrational. I'm dramatic and driven and headstrong.
When people take a glance at my life, they sometimes label me with an addiction. an obsession. something that I need to get under control. something that I need to tone down. There are negative words thrown around. Sometimes they joke, but the joking feels real. You're just a little too into that. You're just a little too invested. You're just care a little too much. And I actually take pause and wonder if I am.
It has happened time and time again. These pauses of wondering.
I don't necessarily want to be like you, until you remind me just how much I'm not like you, and then I begin to wonder if there's something missing in just being me.
You sure do spend a lot of time writing. That's all you talk about.
Maybe you like reading just a little too much.
Maybe you're too sensitive to be a nurse.
I get embarrassed. Almost like they've pinpointed something abnormal or unacceptable. There is something there to poke, something that looks different than how they might do it, and so they poke. They poke out of curiosity or out of jealousy or out of boredom. Sometimes they poke in passing and don't give it a second thought. But I always, always give it a second thought. And sometimes third and fourth thoughts, too. The poking? It gets to me. Enough pokes and bruises start to form. We begin to act a bit differently, turning in a slightly different direction to protect that tender spot from more jabs. But now we're just slightly confused in who we are meant to be and what to make of the new direction we're headed. It doesn't feel natural or peaceful. It just carries the illusion of being more safe.
I am so intrigued by the men and women who don't adjust when the poking continues. I am impressed and in awe of those who continue to stand their ground. Those who don't seem to wonder, "Am I wrong and they are right? Is something a little off in me?" I recently watched a movie about a man like this. It's about Bill Cunningham, a fashion photographer for the New York Times. You can watch it instantly on Netflix, for those of you that are interested. He shared some of the pokes that he had received in his eighty-three years of life. I wonder when his skin got thick enough to endure them? I wonder when he became so comfortable in his own thick skin and was determined to do it his way? I don't want to wait until I'm eighty to have the humble audaciousness to say: Even if you think it's faulty, I have been called to it. It's the only way for me. You may not understand it. You may not agree. Some things may get lost in translation from my heart to yours, but I don't need to cater myself to be someone who feels and thinks just like you do. Jesus made me. and with Him, I'm enough.
I am learning that this deep passion in me... this empathy in my soul... this love for people? It's a gift. A gift and not a misfortune. And the writer in me? That's from Jesus, too. It's my art. It's my heart and thoughts and love written in blood and tears, in deep sighs and laughter. Words make sense of metal mess and are my refiner's fire to push them into the wielder's realm of beautiful gold. How can I apologize for this? Why have I wanted to? Oh, how much joy wells up in my heart amongst the pages of books, amongst the little and big splashes of beauty, amongst the sensitivity and passion, amongst the inner-writer eyes that have come to translate life into something approachable, swallow-able, perhaps even rich and full. and who apologizes for a full life? Even if it's a bit odd, a bit quirky?
It's such a great pleasure to collect, capture, document, express, and create. It bleeds into every facet of my life... not as something to be managed or tamed, but as something which casts a soft glow of beauty, of meaning, and of love.
Yes, it makes me vulnerable. Yes, it leaves me feeling a bit exposed. Yes, it leaves me in prime poking territory, cast under classifications I might abhor. Yes, it may leave me to be the butt of jokes or the target for questioning glances. But what is my alternative if this is who God is calling me to be? There is no alternative. It's just sinking deeper into His perfect love and plan for me. Even after I ponder the pokes, I'm learning to circle back around. This is who I have been created to be.
I finished watching the film, and I just sat for a second.
And I came to a conclusion.
Oh, sweet friends. We can give ourselves completely and unapologetically to the calling that has been laid out before us.
We are so divinely loved and protected.
No one else on the whole planet can be you.
Are you organized and punctual? Are you brainy and gentle? Are you a charming dreamer or a sophisticated philosopher? Are you easy-going and flexible? Are you creative and eclectic? Are you gregarious and hospitable? Are you adventurous and daring? Are you hilariously funny? Are you amazing on the court or a talented musician? Are you logical? Are you whimsical?
Or maybe you carry pieces of all of these. Maybe you have been given other gifts entirely.
Wonderful! Whatever gifts and talents and traits and joys and loves you carry: They're wonderful.
Just be YOU.
YOU are beautiful. and needed. and loved.
Hugs,
Lyss
Alyssa!
ReplyDeleteThis is so beautiful. Such a great reminder for me of something I often forget. Thank you for your sweet words and amazing wisdom.