There’s nothing less interesting than fake perfection.
I laugh at Craig Wall’s review of The Glass Castle, a memoir: “Jeanette Walls was given the ultimate gift as a writer. A dysfunctional family packed with eccentrics.”
The problem is most of us like to hide the dysfunctional mess under our bed. Or under loose clothes. Behind a solid resume, good shoes or an active social life.
There’s nothing less interesting than fake perfection.
But there’s nothing more legendary than redemption. The great story arc. Pauper to princess. Outcast to esteemed. Poor to rich. Lost to found. Lonely to loved.
How will the story resolve, though, when I never admit when I’m fearful? Never admit I give my body the judgmental side-eye in the mirror or I have an irrational fear of loud noises in the night.
I still remember when we were new to each other. “I have to tell you something.” I took a deep breath. Laid it all out on the table.
“It’s okay. I got you,” he said. Simple as that.
Two years after our vows – and more times than that, I say it again, gripping his hands tight.
“I got you,” he says. Simple as that.
All I want is to be fully known and fully loved. All anyone wants. Cinderella. Jane Eyre. Ebenezer Scrooge. Our neighbour Tim.
How will the story resolve, though, when I never admit when I’m weak?
Like he does, standing knee-deep in the baptismal tank, not even a year after his daughter died. “Weak is not a strong enough word to say where I’m at,” he says. Hardly one eye stays dry in those pews.
Submerged in grief – the whys, the hows, how could this be. We watch him go under the water.
“I got you. It is finished.” Simple as that.
Like a resounding ending to the world’s greatest story.
“But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” 2 Corinthians 12:9
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