2010 was a year in which the world’s weight shifted. Had I been on my rocker in previous years, I would have been off of it by spring. Everything I came to know were things I had known already but had somehow avoided. I became…human. Not better, not more glorious, and certainly not more accomplished. I was, and I became, honest. I am not the best person you will ever meet, nor the prettiest. I am not the most generous, I am not the best at math (in fact, I could quite possibly be the worst), and I am definitely not the most mentally organized. I am messy and faulted and cracked and somewhat crazy. I knew these things before this year, but the honesty comes in this: I am quite okay with it. Why should we hide from our faults or inconsistencies? They make us what we are. We know who we are when we know our weaknesses. We grow because of them, not in spite of them.
It was a year in which I became honest with myself. Had I been off my rocker in previous years, I would have been on it again by spring. Everything I lost sight of were the things that I’d been forgetting to remember anyway. I became…human. Good at daydreaming, excelling in the acceptance of frailty, and certainly more accomplished in the art of being broken. I was, and I became, honest. I am in love with being alive, and in love with the people I get to be alive with. I know what I want from life, and I think I know how to get it. I know who I am. I am messy and hope-filled and incredibly whimsical. Forget “well-roundedness” – it’s a farce. Well rounded people are confused people. “Balance” comes from understanding where we fit, not forcing ourselves into spaces and places where we don’t. I am good at red and yellow tasks, but I am quite wretched at blue and green. Why should we hide from our strengths? They make us what we are. We know who we are when we know the best parts of ourselves. We grow not because of our strengths, but into them.
It was a year in which the word TRUTH got flipped up on its head. I saw God and met him where I was told he would not be; I failed to see Him where I thought I knew he was. He no longer kept himself in buildings or symbols and he certainly didn’t jump up at me from holy pages. He stopped quietly placating the ripples and started to make them, instead; my Quiet Captain Jesus became my Walk The Plank Jesus and my safety nets became war zones. I don’t know anymore how to quantify my faith, but (thankfully) I have stopped feeling the need to quantify my faith in the first place. My definitions are no longer written on high-rises and skylights for people to read; they are quietly etching themselves on the inner walls of my heart. I like to think that God can still read them. The old days might be gone but I don’t miss them. I don’t know how to tell you this: but the God who speaks to my daytimes and my nights is not a building and he is not a set of rules – not according to his apparent Words, and certainly not according to this year. I don’t know who He is. I don’t think I am supposed to define him in my smallness. I like to think He knows me. I like to think he doesn’t stick me in a box to make himself feel better; I feel obliged to return the favour.
May 2011 be a year where we stop hiding from our human selves and reconcile with them, instead. Be who you are, because you are enough. I do say: you are quite loveable. No change required to make you better smarter taller or higher on the food chain; you are enough as is. What if we stopped striving to change the fabulous intricacies of our make up or the blaring cracks in our neighbours and just tried being alive for once? I wonder if the black sheep would be released from their stigma, or if the hungry would eat, or if we would stop feeling like the hungry black sheep. Guilt is a chain, not a motivator. Don’t take it with you anymore. In its place, bring with you all that you are and all that you hope for, but especially all that you are. Because I like you that way.