No literally, I fall a lot. Take this morning for example. Lying face first on the steel-cornered steps between the first and second floors of Riggs Hall, I thought about the frequency of that occurrence and its impact on my life. It’s not just falling up the stairs – it’s the many many ways I am reminded that the “I have it all together” image wouldn’t resemble mine even after hours of expert photoshopping.
And I really want to use that. Tripping, saying really dumb things even when I’m not nervous, my (often) complete failure to fully confirm the identity of a person I’m about to greet with an enthusiastic hug, it’s all usable.
They’re reminders that there really is no good purpose for preserving my dignity. My pride and dedication to any kind of appearance (no matter how small) do nothing but frustrate me for not manufacturing the perfect public opinion and leave me ultimately alone. I’m not actually that incapable of functioning without embarrassing myself, but any time I start concentrating on how I’m being perceived I STOP BEING HONEST. I start trying to become something more impressive. Instead, I want to be approachable, comfortable, attentive, and as real as I can possibly be…not so I can be known as “the marvelously humble girl,” but just because that’s the outflow of hiding myself in this love affair with Christ that’s releasing my selfish grip on my identity.
Freedom from fear…death of self and dignity. Honesty and life and reality and love.
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