Thursday, January 19, 2012

Good Girl says 'Behaving Overrated'

Yesterday I read this post by Shannon over at FlowerPatch Farmgirl
I love her writing. Seriously.
Makes me wish I could call my kids "homies" and get away with it. 'Course I laughed hilariously at Ms. Books once when she yelled out the car window "Hey, peeps!" to the DPW guys working digging a hole.... thought she was weird. So I best stick to calling my kiddos- well... kiddos.
Anyhoo- I digress. Such is life.
I just had to comment on Shannon's post. I'm not a big comment-er, really I'm a lurker... but I just had to because she put out a prompt and it was right there and had been there all the live long day.
This is how she wrapped up her post: "Now what I really want to know is this: What was your bright-shiniest boomerang moment today? What was your bosom brussel? I promise it was there, somewhere. Find it and spill it."
And this is what I wrote:
In the midst of my morning devo time that was seriously running into breakfast time... God hit me upside the head with this: I've never asked you to behave. I've simply asked you to be mine.
Wowzers. Been tripping over that phrase all day.

And I'm still tripping over it.

The thoughts I'm thinking have grown from my reading Of Emily Freeman's book Grace for the Good Girl: Letting Go of the Try Hard Life. I mentioned it here.
I bought this book when it came out last fall and gobbled up the first four or five chapters, highlighting my heart out and scribbling in the margins and then I stopped.
It sat on my nightstand staring at me.
Read Me.
Read Me.
Read Me.
I just couldn't because I was still chewing on what I'd already read.

It was too much meat and potatoes for a girl that had been slurping smoothies.... like when it tires out your jaw to chew on a tough piece of meat for too long? Yeah, just like that.
I couldn't quite wrap my mind around all that I was reading because never before has it seemed to me that an author cracked me wide open, saw what was inside and wrote my story as Emily has.
I am a good girl. Raised in the church.... a family church started by my great grandfather. And was a fourth generation card carrying member of that church to boot. The first really big, really bad thing I did was leave that church after 36 years.
Of course, I should mention it ended up being the beyondest bestest thing I could ever have done too...
But it seemed like a wrong thing to do and good girls don't do wrong things... um, and if we do, we hide it as if our very life depended on it. People were mad, frustrated and upset with me. They spoke out loud their disappoint, which is a knife wound to the chest for a good girl.... to have disappointed someone.
The whole thing tore me up and left a gaping wound. I couldn't hide this "bad" thing I had done as it was so big and so public and so... there. Right-out-there there.
My whole life has been wrapped up in trying to live behind the image I created of what I thought others wanted to see and I was failing miserably.
Let me say this: I recovered. But there was stuff I swept under the rug and stomped down on. Emily's book made me bring it out and inspect it.
Ew.
I'm still not done with the book. Mr. Steady remarked the other night that he's never seen me take so long to finish a book. I told him this: "Its too much. I can only read a little and then I have to put it down. It's turning me inside out." He asked why I would continue to read something if it was hurting me. My reply: "Its not bad hurting. The book is good. Way beyond good. I'm struggling with wrapping my mind around it all."
And so, as we snuggled in bed, I turned to the first chapter and read him the parts I underlined, along with the notes I made in the margins.
If there's one person I can be messy, broken me with it's Mr. Steady.
Thank. The. Good. Lord.
I've been reading him snippets each night and since he understands me, he understands why its hard but yet its good.
So I'm re-reading a book I haven't finished yet.
Go figure.
And here I sit, typing unfinished thoughts from a book I have yet to finish.... and I'm learning, oh so much.
Learning to live broken because it's really the only real way to be. And for a good girl that grew up a fixer, it ain't easy. By no means.
But it is crazy good in its all out messiness.
I'm not behaving but I'm HIS the whole live long day.

Here are my thoughts scribbled down today:
Nobody teaches you what it means to be messy and broken and real. That the Christian life can't be tied up in a pretty pink ribbon and paraded around in white patent-leather Easter shoes.
Nobody told me messy was okay. Or that being a good girl didn't matter like I thought it did.


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