A Soft Place to Land
People aren’t meant to have hard edges–pointed, sharp, jagged–like shards of glass we avoid for fear of being cut. A friend of mine mentioned this and it has always stuck with me, we aren’t meant to have hard edges.
She was speaking of our physique, that it is okay to be a little squishy, instead of pointy like all the Hollywood divas profess. I’ve been thinking about that statement a lot this week.
Cutting Words
Someone cut me (not with a knife), but with words. Somehow it cuts the same. Maybe deeper, sharper. Instead of going to the E.R. to get stitched up and medicate, I have to wrestle with it from within–alone. I’ve rehashed it over and over in my head, and I always come out on the bottom. The butt of the joke. The clown at the circus. The mime boxed in. No matter how many times I rework it, I recall it the same. I made a concerted effort to affirm and compliment and was met with belittlement and judgment. But what I really can’t reconcile is why it upset me so much. Why it lingered in my head so long. Why it was burrowing in so deeply in an effort to create a bitter root. Why couldn’t I let the harshness of someone else’s words simply roll off my shoulders? Why was this minor offense trying to stick to me like a thick mud I could not seem to wash off? I’ve rationalized that it really comes down to two things:
Expectation
&
Doubt
Boxed-In Living
Since I can remember I’ve never quite been what was expected. That expectation has often created doubt and a deeply-buried wrestling in the identity of who I am. God’s wonky design of me must be flawed, I’d reason. I’ve consistently been treated like I don’t fit in the room, in the box, at the table.
As a child, I threw tantrums so fierce that my eyes went black, my face turned beet-red. I screamed, I cried, and bellowed for a rescuer to come. As adults stood in a circle around me pointing, laughing, and belittling my grief, a justice bone so thick in my soul began to make its way into my heart. Is this how we were supposed to treat one another? I couldn’t understand why a small child didn’t have an advocate. Worse, it seemed those she loved were acting as enemies.
When Sheep Act Like Wolves
Still to this day when a supposed sheep of the Shepherd comes at me like a wolf, I am left reeling. I realize we are all guilty of the same sins. The very things that happen to me, I am quite certain I’ve done to another. But it’s the aftermath of events like this that I can’t seem to shake. There is ne’er an apology, an aim at reconciliation. Instead, I am to brush it under a rug like the holy person I strive to be, turning the other cheek to be slapped once again because the Bible tells me so (Matthew 5:38-40), right? So, what of the other? While I am turning cheeks, are they reloading their pointed, jagged weapon to aim sharply at another?
The irony is I thought this person was going to be a friend, quite possibly even a good one; instead, she was the cheerleader at the lunch table reminding me I didn’t fit in. The funny thing is that I positioned myself at her table. There was a kinder table available, eager to take me in. It seems I was a glutton for punishment in the lunchroom of life.
People-Pleasing
In spite of all of the years and scenarios that have attempted to close me in to be what is expected, instead of who God designed me to be, I am continually reminded that I am here to please One. One Master, one King, one true God and it isn’t the lunchroom lady that I am serving. Nor is it my own insatiable, terrorizing hunger for approval. Since those days of toddler tantrums, I’ve wrestled to find a place that could embrace me simply as I am. I may never find it this side of heaven.
Fortunately, there is always a lap I can sit on, a knee I can climb upon. A holy God that will cup my face and remind me who I am. That my identity and purpose doesn’t lie in another’s perception or expectation of me but rather, that I am uniquely and wonderfully made by a holy God, designed with a purpose.
As you wrestle with your jagged-edged people today and the cuts that land deep, know that you are seen, you are heard, you are known, and you are loved by a holy God that has and is for you a gentle, and lowly servant; a soft place to land. Isn’t that a trait we could all benefit to mimic as Jesus followers?
“Jesus says, I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep. So when he sees a wolf coming, he abandons the sheep and runs away. Then the wolf attacks the flock and scatters it. The man runs away because he is a hired hand and cares nothing for the sheep. I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me”
John 10:11-14, (NIV)