Sacrificing the stuff that stinks: #40daysofgrace

Posting daily to Facebook during the Lenten season was a last-minute idea. I talked with lots of people who were going to give something up for Lent. I decided that instead of a sacrifice, I wanted to be thoughtful about working on me as a work-in-progress during Lent. I got to thinking that others might want to share the journey, and Facebook kept me accountable to daily reflections.

I want to be clear about something. While I have taken great strides toward self-actualization, I’m a far cry from having it all together. A few people have praised me for my insight and asked me where I was getting the subject matter for the posts. I keep a journal that includes lots of things that I want to keep working on – personally and professionally. If you were following, you know I had 40 days of material and I still have lots more. My point is that no one has it together, and I’m nowhere near the list of people who are close. We’re all amazing works of grace in progress. All of us.

Despite this, we’re hard on ourselves. One of my dear friends frequently laments about the “look at what I did” culture we have become through Facebook and other vehicles. One morning when she was running late, her youngest child (who is one of the cutest kids you’ll ever run across) insisted that she drag a toy car seat down from the upper level of the garage so he could safely strap his dolls in before they left.

She, being the person she is (she’s amazing), and the fact that her son is one of the cutest kids you’ll ever run across, complied with his wishes, and snapped a cute little photo she posted to Facebook. You could just hear the collective “Awwww ….” from mothers at their smartphones and keyboards. I’m sure many felt she was the portrait of a patient, giving and loving mom – and more than a few thought, “Why can’t I do that? I threw my kids in the backseat with a stale Pop Tart and cranked MPR so I wouldn’t have to endure another verse of ‘itsy bitsy spider.’”

But I know the back story. My friend was longing for a huge glass of wine at 7:15 a.m. and if we had ten bucks for every cuss word she muttered under her breath on the way to work we could all go to Europe.

That’s what we do. We constantly compare ourselves to the whitewashed version of everyone we see. We set high standards and get mad at ourselves when we can’t meet them. Or we get frustrated that we can’t move through life at a breakneck pace while remaining grateful, mindful and serene.

Guess what? We’re not alone.

That woman you see in the co-op who grows her own vegetables and makes her own baby food could have a stash of Little Debbies in the back of her pantry.

That person who seems to be doing so well professionally may have trouble getting through the day, and nights are no more peaceful because he or she can’t shake the weight of responsibility.

That man who posted on Facebook a highly stylized photo of the dinner he cooked may have a husband or wife who is pissed off that he messed up every pan in the kitchen and has no intention of cleaning it up.

That perfect couple might be fighting behind closed doors because they’re struggling with addiction, betrayal or abuse.

That gal who works out all the time and religiously counts calories could be not pursuing health, but perfection, because she feels she isn’t good enough.

That person you see who is so positive and happy all the time could be putting a very brave and artificial front on depression or anxiety.

That’s the stuff that stinks. Stuff we bury. Stuff we try to make sure people don’t know about us.

That’s why I wanted to do Lent differently. To me, trying to “give up” something that I love or enjoy would be just one more thing that I failed at when I finally and inevitably gave in. One more thing that stinks.

The fact is, we all sacrifice parts of ourselves every day. The problem is, it’s not the right kind of sacrifice.

We sacrifice happiness by waiting for the other shoe to drop.

We sacrifice joy by worrying about what’s coming next.

We sacrifice our potential by convincing ourselves we’re not worth it.

We sacrifice understanding by failing to seek common ground because it’s easier and takes less time to just insist we’re right.

We sacrifice our gifts by filling our days with to-do lists that never get done and are haunted by shame when they never get completed.

We sacrifice the ability to help others by sharing our hurts because we’re too afraid to show others that we don’t have it together.

Here’s the deal: God would much rather we give up the stuff that stinks.

Why? Because it forces us to recognize grace. Not just from God, but from each other and ourselves. And giving up the time we waste on fear, shame, anger and worry gives us more time to focus on stuff like compassion, gratitude, patience and kindness. Stuff that has the potential to change the world if we let it.

It’s a win/win, really.

The good news is we have a lifetime of grace – we’re not limited to 40 days of it. Someone thought enough of you to die to make sure you have it. So accept grace and practice grace. You are, indeed, worth it.

Thanks for joining me in the journey.