kelly chadwick

Last week my roommates and I ended up in a conversation about Buddy Passes (free passes airline employees and friends sometimes get to fly standby).  One of them commented that she hates using them because she feels exposed, she feels “less than” the other passengers because she didn’t pay for her ticket and has to wait and see if there’s room on the flight.  She feels like they’re all staring at her, judging her, and like she’s not worth the full seat.

Image credit :: funkypancake, creative commons

I stared at her completely confused for a moment, and then announced that when I’m flying with a Buddy Pass (ok, I think it happened once, but I’m sure this is how I would feel) I feel like the most important person on the plane.  I’m looking at everyone else thinking, “suckers.  How much did you pay for your ticket?  Oh, yeah?  Mine was FREE, baby!”  Everyone’s staring?  Must be because they know how special I am.  I’m so special they call my NAME when my seat is ready!

She stared at me just as baffled for a minute, and then we both burst out laughing, realizing that, “of course that’s how the other would feel.”

We saw the situation through different filters.  Her lens was one of poverty and one where there isn’t always enough to go around.  Mine was one of looking for any reason to prove that I’m special and important, that I matter.  So anything that sets me apart (while still being included in the activity) is a win for me.

Over and over this week, I’ve thought back to that conversation.  How our perception of reality is determined by what we expect to see.  If we expect to be rejected, that’s what we’ll find.  If we’re looking for poverty, that’s where we’ll end up.  If we think we’re invisible, no one will see us.

I thought about it when I got invited to a party at the last minute.  My other roommate thought, “Oh good, she got invited!  This will make her feel so good.”  I thought, “I got invited four hours before it starts.  I was an afterthought.  I’d rather not even go.”

I thought about it when someone accidentally congratulated me on my sister’s engagement.  What filter should I hear this through?  The one that declares, “Here is one more person determined to point out what you don’t have and everyone around you seems to be getting?”  Or the one that acknowledges, “It was an honest mistake.  And her insensitive follow-up comments are her attempt to save face because she feels bad.”

I’ve thought about it every time I’ve felt misunderstood or overlooked or forgotten.  And I’ve asked myself, “How would someone else see this?  What if I looked for something different in this situation?  How about I try a different lens?”

Because yes, if you expect to find rejection, or dismissal, or poverty, or any other number of negative things, you’ll probably find them.

BUT.

If you expect to be accepted, if you expect abundance, if you expect worth and value and love, you’ll most likely find those things too.  instead.

When I walk on a plane with a Buddy Pass, I expect that it makes me important.  So I stand a little taller.  Wave my hands a little more than usual.  Greet the “common” passengers on the plane pleasantly, because even though I know I’m more special than them, I can find time to acknowledge them.  And so, whatever they actually feel, I find importance and value in their stares.

Now, if I could just live the rest of my life like that Buddy Pass, we’d be good.

What about you?  What lens do you see the world through?  And do you think I’m crazy?  Because I think I might be!

Seinfeld, anybody?  Sponge worthy?  Don’t worry, we’re talking a different kind of sponges here today.

I replaced the sponge in our kitchen sink recently.  There might not be anything better than throwing out that crusty, brown, dried up sponge that smells like death, and putting out in its place a brand-new, clean, smells like sunshine and daisies one.  (Unless it’s a magic eraser.  Magic eraser sponge trumps normal sponge every day of the week.  Is anybody else as obsessed with these as I am?  Seriously, they’re not lying.  Magic!!)

image credit :: slinky2000, creative commons

And at the risk of a cheesy, youth director analogy, here’s what I realized.

When you pull a new sponge out of the package, it’s a little damp.  And when you run it under the water, it soaks it right up.  Ready to do its job.

But an older, dried up, hardened sponge?

Those take time.  The water rolls right off the top for awhile until the sponge realizes it’s supposed to absorb it again.

Or if you don’t like the sponge example, let’s work with my hair.  I can stand in the shower for a good ten minutes before my hair gets wet all the way through.  Sometimes I can literally wash, condition, and rinse my hair, just to get out and realize it’s not even completely all wet!

And to be honest, lately, I’m living my life with short bursts under the water, short encounters with the Lord, born more out of obligation than desire, and I’m left wondering why nothing is sinking in.

Life has pre-dampened many of us, and different seasons leave us ready to receive and soak up and absorb His presence, His spirit, His voice.

But then life picks up.  The hits come.  And even the actions we’re created for leave us a little hard around the edges, a little stained and bruised, and sometimes a little smelling like death.  We deal in death and sometimes it marks us.

Yes, physical, actual death.  Of our friends.  Parents.  Babies that have barely started living.

Death of dreams.

Possibilities.

Futures we had planned.

Death of the things that defined us.

Death of relationships and the hope we attached to them.

Losing jobs.

Losing our health.

Losing our minds.

Grieving the same things over and over again.

The fact that we’re back here in this place, that we’re no farther along.

And we forget that our whole purpose is to absorb the things of God into our pores.

So we dash under the water, desperate to get rid of the smell of death.  But in our impatience, and to be honest, in our fear that the Lord will disappoint us, we barely let it touch us before we declare it insufficient and move on.  And then we turn back to the Lord, why didn’t you?  but I thought…  you’re supposed to…  you should have!

The more dried up we are, the more ache seems to be involved with letting the Lord refill us.  It’s uncomfortable at first.  It makes our skin feel itchy.  It’s hard to sit still and it’s like we’re just waiting for it to not work so we can be proved right.

But gradually, it starts to sink in.  We start to remember this is good.  We like this. We need this.  How have I gone so long without this?  That’s better.

And the smell of death is washed away one more time.

please tell me I’m not alone.  is anyone else settling for short bursts and wondering why God isn’t doing his job?

1.  You haven’t peaked.  The best is not behind you.  It’s not all downhill from here.

2.  That thing you’re doing right now, the thing nobody notices…it matters.  There might not be celebrations and banners and billboards, but it is still important.  You are still important.

3.  If you fight to get to the top (and make it), you’ll have to fight to stay at the top.  So might I suggest that the top might not be the goal.  It doesn’t usually deliver on what it promised.

Those are three I’m declaring today.  Just maybe somebody needs to hear your truths today too.  Post them in the comments so this list will grow longer than three!

When I was in 7th grade my brother got a tv for Christmas.  Now, that wouldn’t normally be something I would remember, except for the fact that I wanted a tv for Christmas.  At least that’s the way I remember it.  I’m sure I had thought to myself, “I sure would like a tv for Christmas.”  I’m almost positive I had written in my diary, “I’d really like to get a tv for Christmas.”  Of course I’d told my parents my greatest wish was for a tv that Christmas.

Or at least I would have done those things if I’d even thought it was an option!

image credit :: rantes, creative commons.

I guess the truth is that I hadn’t even thought about getting a tv for Christmas.  TV’s were expensive.  Extravagant.  Out of the question.

So when my brother opened up that box on Christmas morning, I sat there stunned.  At first I was just shocked by the extravagance of the gift.

But soon I was angry.  Angry that he’d gotten such a good gift.  Angry that I hadn’t.  Angry that he had something I wanted and angry that he had “won” this round.  (Have I mentioned my competitive side yet?)

And soon that anger turned into disappointment.  Yes, disappointment that I didn’t get what I wanted, but I was even more disappointed that my parents hadn’t known.  And when I finally confronted them with the question, “Why?  Why him and not me?,” they seemed genuinely surprised.  Finally my mom answered, “You didn’t ask for one.  We didn’t know.”

I’d really love to say that I’ve outgrown my 7th grade pettiness, but the truth is that I’ve spent much of the past few months coveting other people’s tv’s.  Not literally, of course, but over and over again I find myself asking, “They got what??”

They got what job?

They get how much money?

They got that house?

How’d they get that opportunity?

You answered that prayer?

Seriously?  There’s more?

And before long, my surprise turns to anger, my anger gives way to disappointment, and I find myself confronting the Lord…”Why?  Why her and not me?”

And he looks at me gently and says, “Baby, you didn’t ask for that.  You didn’t even know you wanted it until someone else got it.  Did you really want that job?”

Gradually I realize that no, I didn’t really want that job/house/opportunity.  Ok, sometimes I would have really liked that job/house/opportunity.  But that isn’t the real issue.

The real issue is that I don’t trust the Lord’s goodness.  I believe in it.  I claim it, declare it, and cling to it.  I know it’s true.  I just don’t believe he’s good to me.  Or maybe more accurately, I just don’t believe his goodness will feel good in my life.  Somehow I believe that he’ll express his goodness to everybody else with tv’s and salaries and relationships.  With chocolate that never makes you fat and cotton candy that never makes you sick.  With extravagant gifts and provision.

And he’s no less good in my life, it’s just that it feels like broccoli and prune juice and stairmasters.  Like shots that you know will keep you healthy in the long run, but hurt like hell in the moment.

There are a few problems with this scenario:
1.  You can’t celebrate God’s goodness in other people’s lives when all you can see is the lack in your own.
2.  If that’s how you see the Lord, you’ll never ask for the big, impossible, extravagant things.
3.  The way God expresses his goodness becomes a ranking system for who He loves the most.

Obviously that doesn’t work.  And I have to believe the Father heart of God longs for us to ask for the deepest desires of our hearts.  To expect that He wants good things for us.  To celebrate His goodness in other people’s lives.  Even when it looks so much better than our own.  And then to thank him even when his goodness looks more like vaccinations.

I think I’ll start by asking for that non-fat chocolate.