looking through me

Tag: self-perception

January 19, 2015

luxury

Luxurious . . . What a word to pop into my mind as I entered work!

I glanced down at my seven year old slacks and six year old heels. The shirt was new—a recent Christmas gift. The cardigan had to be pushing a decade of service. All in good condition, but hardly luxurious. My car is a practical import, bought used with cash. In my hand was a commuter mug of coffee from home, and a hard-boiled egg was nestled in my purse.

But it remained an accurate thought. As a single, childless, educated, debt-free, healthy, employed thirty-something my time and resources allow me ridiculous luxury.

I go where I want, do what I want, read what I want, listen to what I want, buy what I want, eat what I want, say yes to what I want and say no to what I don’t want. I have the luxury of choice. I build the wide margins my introverted self needs into my daily rhythms. I read books and articles and blogs and chase down ideas. I take time to process through writing until clear thought emerges in text before me. I share meals with people who speak into me. I pause to watch the moon rise or the sunlight dance on the clouds. I hold Grandma’s hand and revel in her presence. I build Lego towers with toddler nieces.

I have entered into hard. I have engaged with poverty and lack. But I don’t live there. I live in a reality of abundance. My normal is not universal; I exist as an exception—an outlier.

What does this mean? What are the ramifications of my privilege? What responsibilities does it offer me? How can my comfort and plenty be a shared gift? How does my affluence influence my ability to follow Jesus?

This is the view I see out the office window: the delicate balance of freedom and liability riding on the wind of luxury ruffling the leaves of the everyday.

 

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January 14, 2015

on the hook

I was listening to a liturgy while I drove home from work. As I reflected on my day and places I had fallen short and needed to repent, it transitioned to people I needed to forgive. People I needed to let off the hook.

Let off the hook . . .

An image of people dangling from giant hooks took shape. As I thought about people I haven’t forgiven, I realized they weren’t tucked away out of sight. My own little secret. No, they’re on a giant rolling garment rack I haul along with me.

But I hadn’t noticed them.

That’s the thing about unforgivenness. I see it in other people—the deadweight they’re dragging behind them—but I remain blind to the energy I’m expending as I refuse to let go of the past.

The physical, mental, emotional and spiritual assault on my posture caught me off guard. I saw a hunched and twisted version of myself pulling my hangers-on. The weight and bitterness had twisted and hardened me. Yet the hooked people glided while I strained to tow my anger and resentment.

I swallowed hard and began to name the moments that hoisted the individuals on to their hooks. With each utterance of repentance and forgiveness the hooks released. I felt the tension in my back unknot. My shoulders straightened. I breathed easier. Joy seeped in to the dry, rigid places.

I’m not done. Not every hook is empty. And I know some people will end up swinging from my rack again for the same long-past reasons, but now that I can see my convoy of hooks perhaps I can catch and release instead of holding on to my oppressive trophies.

Now . . . to turn the table of forgiveness—to let myself off the hook—that’s another matter.

 

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