Cutting and Pasting...

I'm in a period of my life where I seem to be constantly writing "personal statements". I'm forced to describe myself and my life experiences over and over again for classes, job applications, and applications for educational programs, and that's to say nothing of the numerous times I have to "explain my call" or give all of these descriptions in oral form in interviews and classes. Moreover, my written statements are always typed and I always wear suits to the interviews. Needless to say, I'm getting a little tired of repeating the story. It doesn't even feel like my story anymore, it's more of a tale I spin and sell to people. If I were to be genuine, I would handwrite the statements in kindergarten scrawl and wear jeans, sweatshirts, and tennis shoes to the interviews. But genuine doesn't make success, so I keep selling the same stale story.

An application recently asked me to give a "reasonably full account" of my life. I had no idea where to begin or what to include. Other questions on the application asked me to describe my call and my occupational history, which left me wondering what else should be included? I knew instinctively to include my educational background, the people who have most influenced my life, and a bit about my activities in high school and college. Likewise, I knew instinctively to skirt the tougher times in my life, the negative influences on my development, and the points where my fears held me back.

When in life do we learn to cut and paste our pasts to create a "presentable" story? At what point do we begin manipulating our own lives to create a more desirable product? And it doesn't stop with applications, we do it in relationships, too. We hide our dark parts, weaknesses, fears, and poor choices from even the people we care about most. We do this to seek acceptance and love because we no longer have faith in unconditional care and because we can't bear to think about how people might judge us. We don't give our closest friends credit for caring about us in spite of our faults. Instead, we project the polished versions of ourselves, constantly reforming our identities. It's safer than risking the love of those we care about, even when they'd probably exceed our expectations.

I know that I've written a great deal about identity and I'm probably getting redundant at this point, but I've been wondering about this a lot because of recent events in my life. I've begun to feel as though I'm constantly projecting a slightly polished version of myself. I'm reasonably confident, but I still use slightly larger words, brush on a little extra makeup, and carefully edit those personal statements. As my own experiences pressed me to consider this repeatedly, I discovered someone else's much wiser and more articulate description of the same feelings:

"What is the truth about any one of us? I often wonder about that. Psychiatrists, biographers, juries--even close relatives--know how elusive it is. The eye that looks in on us and the eye that looks out from us is not the same eye. Most of us create ourselves--arrange the facts of our lives like flowers in a bowl--cutting here, bending there, covering here, revealing there, and filling in the blank spaces with greenery as needed. Everything we can imagine becomes real. Fabulists. A word to put the best face on what we do. Fabulists. Tellers of tales." - Robert Fulghum, "Uh-Oh: Some Observations from Both Sides of the Refrigerator Door," p. 144).

Pastoral Care

The call came at midnight. Ten minutes later, she was on the doorstep with the fixings for cosmopolitans, hugs, and kind words. For an hour she sat, listened, reassured, questioned, and hugged.

This is not what they teach in seminary, but this is a wise, caring ministry of presence. This is pastoral care for friends.