What a Shame
When I was just about to start the fifth grade (I think, it’s a little blurry, maybe it was the fourth…) my dad moved us from Albuquerque to El Paso. This would be our sixth move from the time I was born. He worked for the FAA and would bid on bigger, better jobs at various airports which meant that I had learned how to acclimate to new schools and new kids pretty quickly. This is partially why a lot of my childhood years are a blur. They get a little scrambled when I can’t remember the exact location of some certain memories.
Anyway, back to El Paso. I remember that one pretty clearly. We hadn’t yet found a rent house so we spent an entire summer living at the Residence Inn on the West side of the city. It was one of my happiest, brightest, hottest summers. My brother and sisters and I would stay up late, piled up on pillows and a murphy bed watching Nick at Nite and getting to know the classic shows like Dobie Gillis and Mary Tyler Moore sparking my love for throwbacks.
Not unrelated, have you seen the Nick at Nite lineup lately? I hardly call Fresh Prince a classic. That makes me feel decrepit.
Anyway, back to El Paso, again. We’d stay up late then in the morning pile Styrofoam plates high with bagels, cream cheese, orange juice, tiny boxes of frosted flakes and the like from the continental breakfast and trek back to our room. I’d stash an extra cream cheese packet in my pocket just because I could.
Other than a lunch of sandwiches and chips and the occasional watermelon we’d spend all day swimming in the hotel pool. My dad was at work, my mother had all the time in the world to read her murder mystery novels while us kids where otherwise engaged. At that time in my childhood I was completely unaware of all the things mothers do to keep a house running. In reality she was probably doing laundry. Lots of it.
Later, we’d wash the chlorine off our tanned little bodies, complete with stark white swim suit lines, eat dinner and start the routine again day after day. It was marvelous.
Not much interrupted the Nick at Nite, sleep, eat, swim, repeat cycle but I do remember that another family invited us to the movies one day. Families with four kids and one income don’t really go to the movies very often so we were super excited. Especially because my dad never, ever went to the movies and did not get popcorn. He would ALWAYS pay the extra money and get a huge bucket.
I had a cool, air conditioned theater out of the Texas heat and salty, butter covered deliciousness to look forward to.
You might be thinking what with the extra cream cheese and the buttered popcorn I was a chubby kid but not really. I simply started a love for food early and saved the chubby for adulthood. You live but once, friends!
So, we all piled in our beige Ford Aerostar and headed to a matinee of Honey I Shrunk the Kids to break up the summer long vacation which to us was essentially how we imagined the rich and famous lived. I remember liking the movie as did my siblings. Other than that, I didn’t think much about it.
Years later I would think of this flick as a good idea for a family movie night for my own family of five. Now, if you haven’t seen it, watch it. Otherwise you probably won’t understand a bit of what I’m about to say.
I noticed, for the first time, how messy and disorganized the main character, the inventor, how gross his home was. Their cabinets and countertops were lined with projects, some failed, some unfinished and their sink was full of dirty dishes. Part of the story line was that the mother was away but still, all the bits and pieces of the mess weren’t lost on me.
Now, when I saw this movie for the first time as a nine year old I thought nothing of it. It looked a lot like my own house, full of kids and mess and life. No sleek, trendy furniture. No iron décor on the walls. No pinterest pallet wall decorations. Just messy life amongst the pale blue, pink and floral prints that were super popular when I was a kid.
I can’t really explain why but it really made me think. Today society is different that when I was growing up. A lot different. Or, maybe I’m different. I don’t know.
I won’t even go into social media and technology and how it’s changed everything. My husband can talk to other people through his watch and I just picked up a Walmart order from what is essentially a robot spaceship looking thing. I was picking up a pair of Bluetooth Apple headphones for my husband. I scanned a barcode on my phone and out of this giant spaceship looking dispenser popped our order. What Star Trek episode are we living, anyway??
I grew up in a family of serious Star Trek nerds. I’m not sure if that stuck with me. Another story, another time.
Society is different now because we, even with all our Instagram and constant facebook posts, really never show how messy life is. We’ve gradually hidden it, sort of ashamed. While one would think we’d be getting closer, we’re more closed off to one another.
Am I wrong?
Now, I don’t want to get all dark and serious especially because I’ve shared something bright and happy with you, the summer I lived like a rich kid, but I have to share this.
Because of people God has placed right in the middle of the path He’s set me on, I’ve realized that it is a real shame to hide the mess. Especially in Christian suburbia in which I’m regrettably becoming an expert. I have never before in my life been more aware of not only how broken we are as human beings but by how splendidly, amazingly, overwhelmingly His Grace is so sufficient and complete. It’s beautiful.
How could that be discovered amongst the “good people”? The people who go to church and take their kids with great dedication to sporting events and practices? The people who wear nice clothes and do pinterest projects? Who go to our kids’ birthday parties and teach Sunday School?
I and most people I’ve gotten to know, regardless of their background, have the same issue: we have dark things that haunt us. We’ve sinned. In ways we’d just rather not share because we are ashamed.
Even those relatively well versed in scripture can remember that as Christians we must confess our sins to one another, but we rarely do. Not really. Yeah, we stand up in Bible class and give away a few secrets, the mild ones like “I judged someone harshly” or “I’m not reading the Word as much as I should”. The moments people share the real, dark parts of their heart and their guilt are few and far between.
And, we don’t listen. We don’t know how to react when we hear those truths. We don’t want to condone the sin. We don’t want to encourage it. We don’t know how to encourage the human being behind the shame.
Why? Because we’re ashamed. All of us.
Like a lot of other things going on in our society right now, we gloss it over. We focus, sometimes with great vehemence and quite verbally via social media on bigger issues outside of ourselves while neglecting to look inward.
We don’t want anyone to know how messy our house is, how challenging our marriage is, how distraught we’ve become over a particular season of life because everywhere we look we see others who don’t seem to be struggling at all. They’re upright in their perfect, trendy, sleek houses standing up in Bible class talking about not reading the Bible. They’re not down in the dark pits trying to climb their way out of the muck that is shame and guilt and accepting forgiveness and Grace. At least, they don’t appear to be.
As a matter of fact, I believe Satan is really using shame against us.
I was talking with a group of ladies at church that I have gleaned more wisdom from while chatting in a hallway than I have in any formal Bible class. It was during one particular chat that suddenly fell serious and deep that it occurred to me how closed off we tend to be from each other.
Satan is using our shame and our fear.
He’ll use it to keep us quiet, silently rotting on the inside; our sins a festering wound that seems forever painful. I stood in that hallway, talking with these beautiful Christian ladies and realized how valuable it is to share, to confess. I feel safe with them and they feel safe with me.
We like to pretend that we’re all straight and flying right but the truth is there is darkness and ugliness in the world and we weren’t meant to fight it alone. My friends and I shared a little of our own darkness and agreed to pray for one another and I am so very, very grateful for that moment. Things that we assumed would shock one another if we uttered them to another human being became common bonds. There was more “Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt” than shock.
Being a grown up, Christian wife and mother; being a Christian, being a human being is hard stuff especially without God. Impossible without God. We’re all sinners and no sin is greater than another, it’s all piled chin deep in the same awful place of wrongness.
It made me realize that for one, I kind of miss 1989 and not because of the guilt free popcorn and cream cheese. I miss the honesty. Maybe it was childhood. Maybe I’ve grown into an adult in a time when things really have changed.
To watch movies, commercials and to even start up a conversation with a stranger these days feels so cold and it takes so long to trust each other. With all our technology and social media, you’d think that would improve things but really, I think it’s made them worse. We’re so bombarded with picture perfect that there’s a lot of pressure. We lack as much human to human interaction that we once had and have replaced it with marketing. We market ourselves to each other. We paint a picture of ourselves to others and try to sell it. Meanwhile, even our Christian brothers and sisters are kept, most likely accidently, at arm’s length.
I don’t want to waste one more second trying to be someone or something I’m not. There’s only one me in the entire universe and if I’m not real, I’m missing my calling.
Let’s be honest with each other. If there’s something hurting you, if you’re full of shame, or fear, or regret or confusion God’s grace is for YOU. Not only others with lesser sins on their record. It’s not just for the death row inmate that asks for forgiveness from God in his last moments. It’s for all of us, here, there and everywhere in between. Don’t let shame crowd it out.
Florence Nightingale believed that the sick needed fresh air and clean places to heal. She was right. I think the dark places in our hearts need to air out sometimes too.
Be the one with the messy house or be the neat freak. Be honest and true. Be real.
You have to. Who else is going to be you? God can use even your worst moments to His Glory.
Christians, especially women, you have to. So much hurt has been caused by keeping people at arms length, especially our Christian sisters. I cannot tell you the cliques I’ve observed and the coldness I’ve felt in some church functions. It’s just not right. And it helps no one.
I realize all of this is a bit of a soap box. I’m kind of fond of my soap boxes. My point is we were meant to share with one another. Not just the high points, not just pretty things but the dark places and the missteps.
Obviously, I’m not going to shout my family’s or anyone else’s dirty laundry from the rooftops. You shouldn’t either but kindness goes a lot further than just praying for someone. Sometimes people just need to know that they’re not alone.
If you’re messy or in a mess, you’re not alone.
