Occasionally a people-person

I'm not a very nice person.

Seriously. 

I'm not a "people person."  In fact, most people annoy me.

I wish I could say I enjoy interacting with large groups, that I am the life of the party, but I just can't.

My husband can.

He LOVES people. He always assumes the best of them.  He's not quick to judge.  He gives others the benefit of the doubt.

There are some people I like to be around. Usually they are like me. Questioning. Slightly pessimistic. Sarcastic.  Although, my friend Katie is nothing like me and I like her very much.

Maybe it's because she reminds me of my husband, whom I usually adore. Those rare moments I don't adore him are influenced by his ADD tendencies so I reason they really aren't who he is. They are externally controlled.  It's not really his fault it takes him eight months to change a doorknob or can't remember which brand of organic, sugar-free/chemical free sprouted spelt tortillas to buy.

I spent the better part of my youth and young adulthood trying to be not me.

I desperately wanted to be Brittany Murphy. Well, I desperately wanted to be what my perception of her was.

Laid-back, fun, outgoing, adventurous and bubbly (the fact that she was thin and cute didn't hurt things either.)

But I just wasn't and no matter how hard I tried I wasn't able to be.

Our culture glamorizes spontaneity. It's all about the laissez faire (not to be confused with the economic theory, which I'm a big fan of.)

I'm laissez faire-less.

Always have been. 

The church recommends being nice to everyone all the time and never giving your opinion, especially at a pot-luck, if it may cause someone to be offended.

I never got that right.

I seem to always be offending people. I don't intentionally set out to do so, of course, but it happens. 

I have strong opinions. I'm passionate about my opinions. I assume everyone else in Southern Ohio likes to debate as much as I do, so I give my opinions. 

I expect a response, but usually get a blank look and quiet pause.

In case you haven't noticed in my previous postings, I'm a bit of a perfectionist. I'm never really satisfied with who I am or what I've done. I don't think it's a good quality, but I can't seem to shake it.

Please don't throw Christian psychobabble at me. Maybe I haven't discovered who I am in Christ. Maybe I don't appreciate the concept of grace. Maybe I never got enough attention from my earthly father and I've transfered those feelings of inadequacy onto my heavenly father (just an example, Dad. I don't really think that.)

I've heard all the theories armchair Christian psychologists like to use.

The truth is this is who I am. Nobody makes decisions and choices in a bubble. Your personality, childhood, history, hormones, diet and experiences all work together to shape who you become. 

Here's the thing though. Just because I don't like to be in big groups, I'm not always smiling like Julia Roberts, I don't view the world through rose-colored glasses and I think Pollyanna was delusional doesn't mean I'm less of a Christian.

I mean, sometimes the cup really isn't half-full. Sometimes it's not even half-empty. Sometimes it's actually totally empty and the person holding it doesn't want some some random, taken-out-of-context scripture thrown at them and pat little answer that, "God will work things out."

Sometimes what people want and need are a little dose of realism and practicality. They want a a prayer that doesn't assume God is a genie, ready to abide by our will.

They want a hug (just don't hug me if I don't know you...please, I much prefer the NY way of air kisses), a presence, an ear.

When I'm nice to people and that niceness isn't the societal niceness I'm forced into most of the time, but a niceness that bubbles within me and demonstrates itself in an other-worldly compassion, it really is other-worldly. 

I know when God's spirit is moving on me to reach out to someone because it is so contrary to my nature.

If I look at a person and instead of automatically thinking, "Wow, what were they thinking wearing that jacket out in public with those jeans?" or "Dental care must really be a low-priority in England" but instead think "They seem so broken, my heart feels ready to weep" or "I bet they dress so immodestly because they've sustained so much hurt. In fact, I feel their hurt" I know, really know, that Holy spirit is whispering to my heart. 

I'm able to lay aside my human frailty and reach out in true compassion that is God-inspired.

At that point I'm a people person, but only because He was one first and thought it may be quite nice to watch someone be touched by a person that normally doesn't like to touch people. 

The authentic Christian

When I was a a teenager my favorite book was the dictionary. I loved everything about words. I was passionate about etymology. Every few days I would flip the book open and find a word. Any word. Any length. Any meaning. I didn't care. That word was my "new" word. I used it every moment I could until it became a part of my vocabulary.
That habit did nothing for my popularity (most teenagers don't even know what etymology means, let alone how to pronounce it. Had I been born in my husband's neighborhood I would have sported more than one black eye...) But it instilled in me a deep love for language that manifests itself to this day.
I'm going to share with you my current favorite word.
I've been using this word a lot recently and I think it's an important one for Christians to embrace.
It's a word that seems to have fallen out of favor among the churched.
Authenticity.
I love the sound of it. Say it aloud. Aww (if you're from NY). Then. Tis. Ity.
Lovely.
Authenticity is the quality of being genuine.
Maybe I'm in the minority, but I can't stand to watch TBN. Most of those people drive me crazy. I would try to explain my reasons to Shane, but I was never really able to articulate them.
Saying so-and-so was annoying didn't really cut it.
I finally realized one day that the reason I'd rather watch Barney sing show tunes than watch a Christian network was because most of the hosts didn't seem genuine.
I'm sure their faith was genuine. I'm sure their compassion was genuine. I'm even sure they genuinely believed if you sent them your grocery money God was going to heal you of tuberculosis and help you win a new microwave oven.
But the image they portrayed didn't seem genuine...authentic.
My life is very messy. I accepted Christ when I was four.  I've never turned from him, I've never delved deep into the sin culture of Marilyn Manson, pierced my naval or stubbed my toe and cursed without repenting. I've prayed, read my Bible and loved Him. Yet still, sometimes I feel like my world is coming apart at the seams and Christ seems to always be one step out of reach.
I've doubted. I've yearned. I've resisted. I've ignored. I've loved. I've given. I've taken. I've known. I've sought.
I'm tired of Christian ministers who never experience the downs in the ups and downs of life. At least I'm tired of ministers who pretend they don't.
Where are the people like me? Does God just wash His hands of us and consign us to the useless believer's pew? (Or folding chair, depending on your denomination.)
I don't think so.
I think God knew exactly what He was doing when he formed me.
He gave me my mind knowing I was going to question everything and wonder.
He gave me my mouth knowing I was going to open it sometimes without thinking and give my opinion when it wasn't wanted.
He gave me my hands knowing they would very rarely be still.
He gave me my soul knowing the hurts I would endure, the independence I would cultivate and the passion I would display.
He knew me. Even then He loved me.  He may not need me, but He wants me and I believe He wants to use me.
Why?
Maybe because I understand the value of being authentic.
Let me share a few things about myself
Sometimes I let Ellie wear the same teal-tipped lace socks three days in a row.
Sometimes I feel the urge to pray and I roll over and go to sleep instead.
Sometimes I pass judgement on mothers who give their babies mountain dew.
Sometimes I stand at my window and allow anxiety to consume me.
I get bored while reading the Bible and will put it aside for a Ted Dekker novel instead.
I've yelled at my kids a few times to the point that my throat hurts and I'm forced to drink lemon-spiked honey water to soothe it.
It's easy for me to trust in the value of high-vitamin cod liver oil as a healing super-food, but hard for me to believe God will heal my thyroid.
When I hear people talk about how "anointed" a minister is I think it's a really nice way of saying they got goosebumps during the sermon.
I'm quick-tempered, opinionated and definitely not a glass half-full sort of girl.
I distrust people until they prove they're trustworthy and I think most everyone has an agenda.
When I was in India I visited an orphanage run by Mother Teresa and held a severely handicapped little boy in my lap. I prayed for him and spent the rest of the visit hoping one of the lice I saw crawling on his head hadn't hopped to mine.I never went back.
Sarcasm is my default response.
I can be a very ugly person. My faith is sometimes shockingly weak.
I'm just Kim. Unworthy, fallible and fully aware of my faults.
Maybe right now you're sitting in your chair, your laptop overheating on your lap and thinking I won't ever make it into full time ministry. Maybe you're right.
But I don't need a golden throne and $300 haircut to prove I'm special.
I don't need to prove I'm special at all because I already know I'm not.
There's freedom in knowing you're not perfect, you can't impress anyone and yet He still thinks you're pretty darn worth it.
Since I can't prove my significance, turn off my humanness and be a perfect Christian I've decided I'm just going to be an authentic one.
Here I am.

Needing...

I'm a mom.

I'm a perfectionist.

I'm entirely too hard on myself and suffer bouts of extreme self-loathing.

Mix all these things together and you have a woman who is driven to be needed.

I want my kids to need me.
I want my husband to need me...actually, my husband does need me, but not as much as I want him to need me.

I want my family to need me.

I want my friends to need me, which isn't very fulfilling because I only have about six and they are all adequately self-reliant.
I want my church to need me, though I don't really want them to capitalize on that need because I'm too busy.

I even want God to need me.

I'm a little embarrassed to admit this but I kind of always thought God did need me.

I'm not sure why I thought this, but there you have it.

Maybe this insatiable desire to be needed is a result of being the eldest child. Maybe it stems from this odd feeling of responsibility I feel over every person and every circumstance. Maybe it's just part of who I am.

All I know is that I was absolutely STARTLED last Sunday driving home from church, because it struck me...God doesn't really need me! Can you imagine? I almost had to pull the car over. I glanced in the rear view mirror and assured myself the girls were sitting in the backseat. The few moments I couldn't catch my breath after discovering God didn't need me (the audacity!) I wanted to reassure myself my children still existed and were still young enough to need me. They were there, both with their heads thrown back and mouth open in the unaffected sleep of children. So they were there, but at the moment they definitely didn't need me.

I turned my attention back to the Lord.

"Are you sure you don't need me? For anything?" I asked.

I don't like to boast (well, I try not to like boasting at least) but I'm quite talented. You should see what I can do with nothing but a cast iron skillet and a chicken breast. Or give me a word and I can craft an entire world from it, entertaining toddlers for hours (maybe only minutes, but it feels like hours). I'm convinced I can do anything I set my mind to unless it requires an instrument in which case I'm happy to turn it over to my husband, Shane.

You can understand why I was surprised God didn't need me.

But then it struck me, like the proverbial lightening rod sent from heaven, there are millions of people in the world that are talented. Much more than I. Millions of people that are strong, dedicated, smart, powerful, charming and passionate. I'm just a tiny like guppy. Not much of anything, really. Sure, I can cook. I can write, make jewelery and organize. I'm a good mom. A fair wife (working on that) and I think I'm a fabulous friend (I only have six, though, so maybe I'm not that great of a friend...)

But those things don't really matter because there is always going to be someone else that is more than I can ever be. Also, at the risk of sounding obvious, He is God. He can fold the earth in on itself with a snap of His finger. He can blow the stars out with just a breath. Why would He need one insignificant SAHM from southern Ohio? Why would he need anyone?

I sat in my car, ready to pout and sink into a full-blown pity party, when God rescued me from myself.

So still and quiet I just barely heard it above the hum of my engine and the snore of my three year old, came that little whisper I've grown to love.

"I may not need you, but I want you."

What a privilege! The God of the universe, the one that created the sea and the sky and the planets and LIFE wants me!

Me!

Being wanted is so much better than being needed.

Who am I?

I guess that's the fundamental question every person asks themselves eventually.

Usually in their early twenties.

Sometimes the question is birthed by an emotional breakdown brought on by a breakup, a traumatic event or an unfortunate experience with one too many martinis.

Sometimes the question is ignored. With a sideways glance and a shudder, it's plunged deep within the minds recesses, hopefully never to surface again.

There are those of us that obsess over this question. Hoping the answer is never given, we polish the idea up like a piece of silver and prominently display it on the shelf of our psyche. Idolized, we give ourselves over to the self-indulgent fantasy that who we are is of paramount importance and we must never answer the question for fear of losing our focus...namely, ourselves.

Some may constantly change the answer. Forever working on themselves they evolve into a super-person. Interested in everything. Good at most things. Trying anything.

I've always been able to answer that question definitively.
I'm a Christian.
But lately, I've begun to wonder exactly what that means.

I'd like to say it happened the day I turned thirty. It would be nice to have such a clean-cut reference point. I'm all about bullet-points and organization. I like the concrete.

Unfortunately, I began to question everything about a decade earlier and the story is decidedly messy.

I'm nothing if not deeply aware of myself.
You might say I'm an expert in all things related to me.

I can, in all honesty, tell you my questions began to surface after suffering a devastating miscarriage when I was a twenty year old newlywed.

All of a sudden, life didn't seem so clear-cut. Something really bad had happened to me and I didn't understand why.

As I watched my husband fish a tiny body from the toilet, my faith took a beating.

In all the moments since, I've become painfully aware that life can't be explained by pat sayings and scripture taken out of context.

John 3:16 doesn't answer every question, soothe every hurt and erase every doubt.

So. Who am I?

I can give you the facts. I'm a thirty year old woman. I'm a wife. A mother. A slightly obsessive personality that dislikes clutter and allopathic medicine.

I'm a writer. A procrastinator (especially when it comes to my writing.) A lover of food and old movies.

I can say I'm a Christian, in that I believe Christ died for my sins, I go to church every Sunday and, like good Christians everywhere, tune my radio to K-Love when I'm driving to the supermarket.
I'm not sure that's enough for me anymore, though.

I want more from my faith than a lists of do's and don'ts. I want some answers. I want understanding and I want to know the truth.

Ten years ago I lay sobbing on my bed wondering why I lost my baby and God was quiet.

I did what any self-respecting mother would do...I ran after Him. Really, no one else could give me the answers I needed.

I've been chasing Christ ever since.

Maybe some of you think that's disrespectful. Maybe you think I'm rebellious or faithless.
Maybe I am.

But I'm authentic....and at least I'm not chasing after martini's.