The Illusion of Safety
I’ve heard it said that one of people’s greatest fears is public speaking. I can’t relate to this. Sure, I have fears. But getting up in front of people is not one of them. Perhaps I am more afraid that people will ignore me or think me insignificant.
I remember Sunday evenings at church with my friend Sheldon. First Baptist of Cupertino was just a mile from my house, and we were there every time the doors were opened. Sheldon’s Dad was our Music Minister, so he was pretty much there all the time too. It was a small enough church on Sunday morning, but when we came back that night it was just me and Sheldon in our age group, and the teacher’s daughter.
There was some confusion here that deserves comment. You see it wasn’t really the teacher’s daughter but a little red-haired girl she brought from her neighborhood. This might not seem like a big mistake on my part, but it did cause me a significant degree of “cognitive dissonance.” I didn’t think the red-haired girl was very cute. But I was nice to her anyway because I believed she would grow up to be pretty, like her mother, or like the woman I thought was her mother. But that really doesn’t come much into my story.
They say you can tell how much the congregation likes the pastor by the attendance on Sunday morning. And that you can tell how much they like each other by the attendance on Sunday evening. But if you want to know how God rates with these people, come back for the Wednesday night prayer meeting!
So one Sunday evening we decided to “play church.” Sheldon would lead the singing because that’s what his Dad did. I would be the preacher and the little red-haired girl would be our congregation. The teacher typed up bulletins with our names in it and told what number to turn in your hymnal and where to find the passage in the Bible I would be preaching on.
I don’t know what made me think I could preach. I just never doubted that I could. “Wherever two or three were gathered . . .” I just opened my mouth to speak to them and the words came out all right. When I was four I “went forward” in big church and asked Jesus to forgive my sins. When I was five I went forward again; this time to announce to the congregation that God had called me to preach!
I don’t remember what I preached on but I know I enjoyed it. I usually like to talk when anyone will listen. Somehow when I’m talking and they’re listening I feel like I am in control of what people think of me.
Brennan Manning calls him “The Imposter.” He’s the person that you want other people to think you are. When you’re alone with God you know it isn’t the real you, but as long as you can fool others the imposter helps you feel safe about the secret of your true identity. What is this secret and why do we guard it so carefully?
My secret is that who I am is inadequate. I am not as intelligent or charming or competent as I want to be. And if you knew the truth you would reject me.
John Powell in his book, Why am I Afraid to Tell you who I am? explains.
If I present a certain image of myself by wearing a mask, you may reject me, but I can go away and say, “That wasn’t the real me anyway.” But if I show you who I really am, and you reject my honest self-revelation, what do I have left?
Of course the disadvantage of always wearing a mask is that the approval we feel from people who like us “falls only upon the outer man.” It’s a “Catch-22, “ a no-win situation. Only by risking it all in transparency and truth can I hope to experience genuine affirmation of my real self.
But I have found an alternative: a compromise which serves me fairly well. I have the illusion of safety when I can control how I am perceived by a few people who really matter to me. This may be slightly co-dependent and at times manipulative, but it works well for me.
There is an unwritten agreement with my wife, my family, and my close friends that they will tell me only what I want to hear when I am “being myself” with them. If they reflect back to me some flaws or characteristics I find to be disagreeable about myself I reserve the right to “explain myself” or make excuses. This is called “re-framing.”
Now what I’ve discovered about spending time alone with God is that He is not very tolerant of such “back-talk.” (My family & friends aren’t always so cooperative either, but mostly they have just learned to put up with me.) The really frightening thing about being with God is that you can’t wear your mask and you can’t really impress Him and when He speaks to your soul about yourself and who you really are you better listen!
Furthermore, I’ve discovered that He wants me to listen to my wife and my family and my friends especially when they share an observation that doesn’t really fit my picture of myself. I believe God wants me to give up my attempts to manage how I’m being perceived by others so I can begin to learn more about the actual effect I’m having on those around me.
At times this will be disturbing. I have learned that I can be thoughtless, careless, annoying, inconsistent and unloving. But the potential is also there for good. Not because of anything I’ve done but because the life of Christ is in me. As I discover the positive impact of my life when I am not concerned about managing my image I can be greatly encouraged. My words and behavior when I thought that only God was watching have given help and hope to those around me. This helps me with hope also.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
"Time" passages
The carpet is dirty from being walked through to get to the garage. I’m not sure why anyone besides me goes to the garage, but I know all this dirt isn’t just from me.
I have two little friends who visit me “down here” sometimes. One is less than three feet tall! The other is over forty inches and growing. They come down for a drink of water or to see if I have any chocolate. I really need to get some more chocolate. I’ve been out for quite some time now.
I come here to read or to write. There are lots of books so that makes a great environment for reflection and composition. I guess you could say it has ambiance. I’ve never counted my books but I’d say there are about a thousand. People always ask me if I’ve read them all. I wish! Like I have time!
Time – what a concept. It seems to change depending on where you are. If I am in bed and trying to sleep at two in the morning, time moves very slowly. The digital clock is not very helpful. It tells me when it’s 2:12. Then I close my eyes and try to sleep for what seems like an hour. When I open my eyes it’s 2:16!
All this is very hypothetical because in all actuality, I’m a pretty good sleeper. But it might happen to my wife. Apparently she sees quite a bit of that digital clock in the wee hours of the morning. But I can neither confirm nor deny her story, ‘cuz I’m like snorin’ away.
Then there’s “time” in the morning when my little friends wake up at six or six thirty. I tell them I really need to sleep till seven and can they please keep it down and maybe play quietly or something? So then the littlest one, who is not quite three feet tall, asks if he can have a drink or something to eat or can he go downstairs and get a gun or a sword. So I tell him, “Just ten minutes and I’ll get up and help you.” Then about 30 seconds later while I’m trying to doze back off he returns and I see that more than ten minutes has gone by.
But “down here” in the office, with the dirty carpet and all the books and the ambiance conducive to reflection and composition, “Time” proceeds as it should. There must be mechanisms governing the passage of time in different locations and situations; like the intricate workings of a grandfather clock with gears and springs and weights perfectly counterbalanced to hold back forces from moving things along too quickly. Here in my office each second gives me exactly enough time to say “one thousand one.”
Just what is the mechanism causing the sweep second hand “down here” to proceed at such a stately pace, like the father-of-the-bride escorting his daughter to the altar? It just might be that part of the ballast holding back the rush of time in this place is the many journals and planners and notebooks I have filled and saved over the past twenty years or more. I have written and saved plans and notes and lessons and sermons and memories of my life with the expectation that someday there will be “time” to go back over them.
And the books “down here” also offer weight and balance to the ever-forward driving force of life rushing on. From Homer to Plato to Paul to Present the records of other lives lived in other “times” sit on my shelves and hold back the encroaching future from coming too fast, from arriving too soon. Here there is time, and there will be time, to read, reflect, re-create. I am hopeful and expectant that for me there awaits further study and exploration.
So I come here, and I go back, all in good time. Dinnertime and bedtime, followed by breakfast, lunch and naptime. Summertime and Fall followed by Winter and Springtime. The ambiance will be here. The second hand will not rush. The books can wait but my little friends are impatient. Soon the articulate and authoritative little voice will be coming from more than three feet off the ground. His bold companion and mentor will lead him off, gun and sword in hand, to explore exotic lands and conquer far-off kingdoms. They may want me to go along. I hope they do.
No, the dirty carpet is not just from me. But I don’t mind it. It’s part of the ambiance. I’ll vacuum it another day. Right now I’ve got just enough “time” to consider a page from my past, a note to myself, which reminds me that this is not the first time I’ve pondered this predicament.
“I have arrived. Here with my books & my papers and my pictures there are things to be put in order. LAST of all I put my thoughts in order. What a relief! Here I appreciate the Life which, in my house, among my loved ones, I can only LIVE.
“ . . .But when I say . . . ‘only’ Live, I share Socrates’ view that the unexamined life is not worth living. And somewhere CSL has observed that one cannot simultaneously ENJOY & CONTEMPLATE. So I leave, I retire, I rest. I think, I read, I pray, I write – And upon my return discover . . .? WHAT? That time is precious, Life is a gift.
“Of Course Living is more important than writing and Life more important than Literature. But without books we are impoverished and our living is shallow when no time is given to thought & contemplation.” (Journal entry Aug. 11, 2003)
I have two little friends who visit me “down here” sometimes. One is less than three feet tall! The other is over forty inches and growing. They come down for a drink of water or to see if I have any chocolate. I really need to get some more chocolate. I’ve been out for quite some time now.
I come here to read or to write. There are lots of books so that makes a great environment for reflection and composition. I guess you could say it has ambiance. I’ve never counted my books but I’d say there are about a thousand. People always ask me if I’ve read them all. I wish! Like I have time!
Time – what a concept. It seems to change depending on where you are. If I am in bed and trying to sleep at two in the morning, time moves very slowly. The digital clock is not very helpful. It tells me when it’s 2:12. Then I close my eyes and try to sleep for what seems like an hour. When I open my eyes it’s 2:16!
All this is very hypothetical because in all actuality, I’m a pretty good sleeper. But it might happen to my wife. Apparently she sees quite a bit of that digital clock in the wee hours of the morning. But I can neither confirm nor deny her story, ‘cuz I’m like snorin’ away.
Then there’s “time” in the morning when my little friends wake up at six or six thirty. I tell them I really need to sleep till seven and can they please keep it down and maybe play quietly or something? So then the littlest one, who is not quite three feet tall, asks if he can have a drink or something to eat or can he go downstairs and get a gun or a sword. So I tell him, “Just ten minutes and I’ll get up and help you.” Then about 30 seconds later while I’m trying to doze back off he returns and I see that more than ten minutes has gone by.
But “down here” in the office, with the dirty carpet and all the books and the ambiance conducive to reflection and composition, “Time” proceeds as it should. There must be mechanisms governing the passage of time in different locations and situations; like the intricate workings of a grandfather clock with gears and springs and weights perfectly counterbalanced to hold back forces from moving things along too quickly. Here in my office each second gives me exactly enough time to say “one thousand one.”
Just what is the mechanism causing the sweep second hand “down here” to proceed at such a stately pace, like the father-of-the-bride escorting his daughter to the altar? It just might be that part of the ballast holding back the rush of time in this place is the many journals and planners and notebooks I have filled and saved over the past twenty years or more. I have written and saved plans and notes and lessons and sermons and memories of my life with the expectation that someday there will be “time” to go back over them.
And the books “down here” also offer weight and balance to the ever-forward driving force of life rushing on. From Homer to Plato to Paul to Present the records of other lives lived in other “times” sit on my shelves and hold back the encroaching future from coming too fast, from arriving too soon. Here there is time, and there will be time, to read, reflect, re-create. I am hopeful and expectant that for me there awaits further study and exploration.
So I come here, and I go back, all in good time. Dinnertime and bedtime, followed by breakfast, lunch and naptime. Summertime and Fall followed by Winter and Springtime. The ambiance will be here. The second hand will not rush. The books can wait but my little friends are impatient. Soon the articulate and authoritative little voice will be coming from more than three feet off the ground. His bold companion and mentor will lead him off, gun and sword in hand, to explore exotic lands and conquer far-off kingdoms. They may want me to go along. I hope they do.
No, the dirty carpet is not just from me. But I don’t mind it. It’s part of the ambiance. I’ll vacuum it another day. Right now I’ve got just enough “time” to consider a page from my past, a note to myself, which reminds me that this is not the first time I’ve pondered this predicament.
“I have arrived. Here with my books & my papers and my pictures there are things to be put in order. LAST of all I put my thoughts in order. What a relief! Here I appreciate the Life which, in my house, among my loved ones, I can only LIVE.
“ . . .But when I say . . . ‘only’ Live, I share Socrates’ view that the unexamined life is not worth living. And somewhere CSL has observed that one cannot simultaneously ENJOY & CONTEMPLATE. So I leave, I retire, I rest. I think, I read, I pray, I write – And upon my return discover . . .? WHAT? That time is precious, Life is a gift.
“Of Course Living is more important than writing and Life more important than Literature. But without books we are impoverished and our living is shallow when no time is given to thought & contemplation.” (Journal entry Aug. 11, 2003)
The Back side of Nowhere
Don't know where the back side of nowhere is but sometime I might like to go there . . .
Rode my bike the other day, just to say i still remember how
haven't found exactly what I'm looking for but I don't give up easily
home with the boys is nice so I don't miss any of their growin up - still do anyway
Home with my wife is special cuz somebody loves me
Daughters love me too - but they have to cuz I'm their Dad, it's still special
Son number one comes home atimes and that's cool too.
Sad to think he was not so long ago one of the little guys -
I know he was and I could tell you a few things about it -
but mostly it's just happened and over and kind of gone now - the past
There's plenty more where that came from - bein waked up by a two year old - almost three
Making breakfast and everyone gettin up and I ain't quite ready - nobody's fault but mine
We had family worship this morning around the table
There they was and there we all was and then before you know it - poof!
They was gone and we was awashin up the dishes and then startin their schoolin
So here I am and it's a great place to be but they's all asleep so I'd best be gettin off to bed myself. That little guy - less than three feet tall - he's right persistent in the mornings:
"Dad, I'm ready to eat something."
"Dad, I need a drink of water."
"Dad, I'm ready to play, can Ben get up and play with me?"
"Dad, I'm finished sleeping. I don't want to lay back down."
"Dad, I'm ready to get dressed."
And if he happens to sleep in (past 7 a.m.) his brother, the tall one, almost forty inches now, is sure to get up and start his day of play adventures, gathering weapons and building castles or searching for dragons. And when he gets lonely in the first few minutes of playing alone he'll want me or Ben or Haddon to join him. Because adventures are always more fun when you can call some companions in on it.
"But there can be no adventure if we despair of reaching our destination." - Stanley Hauerwas
I know I'll get there. I'm sure I'll make it. I've got my friends and family to journey with me. Sooner or later we'll all arrive safely home.
Rode my bike the other day, just to say i still remember how
haven't found exactly what I'm looking for but I don't give up easily
home with the boys is nice so I don't miss any of their growin up - still do anyway
Home with my wife is special cuz somebody loves me
Daughters love me too - but they have to cuz I'm their Dad, it's still special
Son number one comes home atimes and that's cool too.
Sad to think he was not so long ago one of the little guys -
I know he was and I could tell you a few things about it -
but mostly it's just happened and over and kind of gone now - the past
There's plenty more where that came from - bein waked up by a two year old - almost three
Making breakfast and everyone gettin up and I ain't quite ready - nobody's fault but mine
We had family worship this morning around the table
There they was and there we all was and then before you know it - poof!
They was gone and we was awashin up the dishes and then startin their schoolin
So here I am and it's a great place to be but they's all asleep so I'd best be gettin off to bed myself. That little guy - less than three feet tall - he's right persistent in the mornings:
"Dad, I'm ready to eat something."
"Dad, I need a drink of water."
"Dad, I'm ready to play, can Ben get up and play with me?"
"Dad, I'm finished sleeping. I don't want to lay back down."
"Dad, I'm ready to get dressed."
And if he happens to sleep in (past 7 a.m.) his brother, the tall one, almost forty inches now, is sure to get up and start his day of play adventures, gathering weapons and building castles or searching for dragons. And when he gets lonely in the first few minutes of playing alone he'll want me or Ben or Haddon to join him. Because adventures are always more fun when you can call some companions in on it.
"But there can be no adventure if we despair of reaching our destination." - Stanley Hauerwas
I know I'll get there. I'm sure I'll make it. I've got my friends and family to journey with me. Sooner or later we'll all arrive safely home.
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