The other day at work, a couple of my coworkers and I were
talking about first impressions. We exchanged our first judgments of each
other. Both of them told me that their first impression of me was that I was quiet
and very shy, but their opinion changed as they got to know me better. I rolled
my eyes, because it wasn’t a surprise. I knew they were going to say that. Part
of me hoped for a different answer, but I basically knew that’s the one I would
get. And, you know, it’s true. I’m shy (and have come a long way in overcoming
it! See my June post “A Newfound Confidence”.) But the fact that I’m shy has
always really confused me.
For some reason unknown to me, I tend to give off this
impression that I am a sweet, gentle creature who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Really, I don’t like pain, or hurting people, and at heart I am gentle and
caring. Unfortunately for me, sometimes I can be quite the people-pleaser.
But honestly, when it comes to standing up for truth or fighting against a perceived
injustice against me, I’m literally a crusader. I will fight to the death! Well, I’ve never actually killed anyone. And I don’t
remember ever dying. I only broke my right hand punching my brother when I was
14. Yeah…that taught me a dang good lesson. Especially since the fight was about
whose turn it was to play the piano (nerdiness runs in the family), and that
one punch I threw left me with the inability to play piano for a while (my
world at the time). Oh, the irony. The only positive to that experience,
besides helping to teach me not to lash out physically at people, was that my
left handed piano playing improved quite a bit. And no, I do not recommend this
as a piano teaching tactic. I was gonna say that my parents should’ve put me in
a boxing class so I would learn to punch properly, but that might’ve been a bad
idea.
Most people seem surprised if I mention that I have somewhat
of a bad temper and am a raging bull in certain conflict situations. It
confuses me every time that they would never have known. It makes me feel like
a faker or something. But I guess I’m not mad all the time. Anyways, this post is for all those little old ladies
from back in the day who took a look at my big brown eyes, short little frame,
and shy smile and declared, “Oh she’s a little sweetheart.” Try not to judge a
book by its cover. I’d like to show you the home video my parents have of me
when I was a toddler, laying on the couch, sucking my thumb nonchalantly. My
brother was standing next to me, trying to learn how to walk, and I kicked him
over a couple times and laughed. And all because he was stealing my attention.
That’s a sweetheart for ya. It might have been a bit cute at the time, but wait
until someone like that gets older…ugh.
Ya, my parents had their patience tried a time or two, to
say the least. As an adult, I laughed when I was looking for a good book in my
parents’ library and found their decently-sized stash of parenting books. I
remember at least one of them was called “The Strong-Willed Child” or something
to that effect. Clearly my poor parents were seeking some help. I don’t know
how much of it they tried to put into practice, but unfortunately, I remember
reading that book and feeling like a lot of what it said didn’t really apply to me
personality-wise, so of course it wouldn’t have helped them. I don’t exactly know
everything that was in those books, but I don’t think any of that advice would really have helped them much seeing as I saw through the tactics and would rather
dig in my heels stubbornly and take the consequences than submit to what I
perceived as power manipulation.
There is a guy I know who I grew up with, basically as brother
and sister since our parents were so close. The poor kid was in my class at
school, which meant I’d tattle on him if he did something wrong. When he told
the teacher he had two sisters (actually just family friends he felt were close, but he
didn’t clarify that), I blurted out in class that he definitely didn’t have any
sisters and he was lying! I guess I
didn’t understand the whole “we’re related in my heart” idea or whatever. You
were either related or not. And they weren’t. Poor kid. I actually feel bad in
retrospect.
The details mattered
to me, and I remembered them all. And if you told me I liked arguing, I’d argue
you about how much I hated it until it ended in a spanking. And you know, I really did hate it. I still do. I always
have. So why do I do it? Why do I fight and argue and as some have put it,
“bitch all the time”? Because truth matters that
much to me. And justice matters that much to me. I get stressed about
conflict. I hate it. But I will bare my teeth and growl until it’s over if I
think, I mean know that I’m right. I’m
not afraid to make waves. Oceans would be endlessly murky if it weren’t for the
waves cleaning themselves along the shore. People are afraid of waves. I’m more
afraid of gunk that lurks beneath them. I think this is what a lot of people
don’t quite understand. I walk with my head in the clouds, blowing the air,
rustling the water. Everyone else is just kissing the ground, and clinging for
dear life. As long as they can ignore the murky water, they feel the murk
doesn’t exist. Unfortunately, whether it’s me or another unfortunate person or
circumstance, something’s going to eventually wash that dirty gunk to shore
right on top of those ground-kissing people. In my opinion, it’s better to deal
with the conflict now so we don’t have to deal with it later, and the knowledge
that the gunk exists when someone is unwilling to deal with it is enough to
drive me literally crazy. I go crazy. I mean really crazy! I don’t believe in brushing things under the
rug…unless I feel quite guilty that I’ve actually done something wrong and the
other person hasn’t.
Like when I showed up late to work and my boss very kindly
chastised me. The tiny bit of criticism made me want to curl up in a corner and
sob. So I kind of did for a moment. In this sense, I feel like a
coward. Even if I had a good excuse for being late, (like sobbing
uncontrollably before work and then hitting every single red light on the way
there) I don’t think I would have been able to say it. I’m not an excuses maker
like that. It didn’t matter what kind of obstacles I faced, I felt I should’ve been on time, and I felt like
the worst human being alive! I guess, the truth is out, folks. I have time
management problems, and really a terrible concept of time in general. As I
said, my head’s in the clouds. But you all knew that already.
So yeah, I’ve never made excuses to my boss at work. In
general, I’m not an excuses maker. A while back, when I was still taking
courses at a university, my counselor there sent an email to one of my profs
giving him a heads up that I struggled with anxiety and it was hindering me in
my schoolwork, and that it would be nice if I could get an extension on a due
date. I didn't ask for my counselor to do that, but she offered. I felt guilt surge through me. No excuses. No excuses for me. I should be
able to do my work. I was sure there were other people in the class struggling
with things worse than me. Why should I get special treatment? Maybe it’s
partially the way I was brought up. Maybe it was pride. Yeah, pride which leads
to a lack of self-empathy and mercy.
I am totally unforgiving to myself. And likewise, I think I
am unforgiving of others. I’ve been awakened to this recently. I am holding something against almost every single
person that I know. I have judged them for something.
Anything. How dare they not be perfect. Then when they seem pretty awesome, my
jealousy comes out and I search for something bad about them.
It’s funny how when I was a kid and I tattled in an attempt
to deal out justice, I sometimes at first felt satisfied, then I felt remorse
and a desire for the person I had gotten in trouble to be forgiven and granted
mercy. And even now, my value for both justice and mercy leave me at a loss for
what to really ask for in prayer. Is there a good balance between justice and
mercy? What is the right formula? I love the idea of grace, mainly because if I
do something wrong like I know I will, I’d like to be given a little grace
myself. But does it have to be at the expense of justice? What is the right
course of action? I don’t like the idea of sacrificing the truth and a sense of
“rightness” for mercy.
I have realized that my lack of forgiveness toward myself as
well as others is directly linked to my need to fight for justice. Things need
to be fair. Things need to be made right. And if no one else will stand for
it, I will. Don’t get me wrong, this can be a great quality. My dad recently
gave me a surprising compliment that I will remember forever. During one of his
rants about a TED talk he had watched, he told me I was one of few people who
will stand for what is right regardless of the opposition. He told me I was a hero. Even if his original intent wasn't really to compliment me, he did. It was the
best compliment I’ve ever been given. It made me tear up, though I don’t think
he noticed it because he was so busy rambling (which is kind of funny when I
think about it). This is a perspective of myself I would love to live up to. To
be that someone who will stand up for people and do what’s right even when no
one else does.
Then when I think about this concept of heroes, I’m really
nothing compared to Jesus. And Jesus didn’t generally fight in an aggressive
manner. He had His moments, but He led by example, and He chose His words
wisely. He didn’t bother trying to convince fools of things they weren’t
willing to accept or hear. He didn’t worry about defending His own name. Jesus
didn’t play a pride game. He let his actions speak for themselves and allowed
people to do what they would with it. Jesus knew justice would prevail eventually.
He left justice to His Father. He played a part in it through His example, but
He chose His battles wisely. He forgave those who asked for forgiveness, and
asked us to extend the same grace to others as it has been given to us.
My lack of forgiveness leaves no room for mercy. If I am
always trying to deal out justice, when will I have time for grace? Who am I to
judge, and who am I to be the judge?
God knows of the injustices that I face in my life, and that we all face. He
knows when others have done wrong, and it’s really not up to me, not up to us
to be constantly pointing it out, trying to make someone else see it. We have
to trust God that all will be made right in the end. How he deals with it is up
to Him. Regardless of what people say, even the little details--the molehills that
really are mountains--are important to God, and we have to trust that He will
deal with them in His own way. Maybe justice doesn’t mean payback in every
circumstance. Maybe God defines justice, and a lot of the time, that means
grace. For me, grace is something that is hard to completely understand or
accept, but I think it’s something that’s also hard to totally refuse. You have
to admit, it’s a nice concept. And it feels good to be unconditionally loved
and forgiven. So good, that's it's really a hard concept to understand.
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