Currently Listening To: Gregorian Chant =-) It's pretty. And way relaxing.
There are some days where I think about writing something and then don't. It's usually these nights that I am struck with insomnia. It's like the ideas inside my head are begging, pleading to be released. They bounce around my mind like a billion little Mexican jumping beans and I can't find rest until I put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard, in this case). Such is the case tonight. All day (since about 10am, anyway) I've been marinating in a thought. All day it's been rolling around my brain and prancing through my soul. So here I am. I will fight it no more: I am finally surrendering to it in the wee hours of the morning.
Truth be told, I much prefer writing with pen and paper. For me, the keyboard limits my expression. Sure, I am a writer and words are the colors with which I paint my masterpieces, but if you were to look through my journal you would discover just as many childish doodles as you would words. If I get trapped looking for a word to describe the picture in my mind (I think in moving pictures), I doodle. If a preoccupation distracts me from my thought process, I doodle my way back. In my journal I write sideways and in different sizes and shapes and boldnesses. The look of my writing often conveys as much, or more, emotion and thought as do the words themselves. The keyboard? Well, it's so drab, so methodical...
Tonight, though, I've chosen to write what I've been marinating in here on this blog with the methodical keyboard because I'm wondering if what I'm thinking through is something someone else out there could relate to; maybe it will help. Maybe someone will disagree. Or maybe it will simply get someone thinking. It seems to me that all of these outcomes are worthy of my sharing with the ambiguous "you" this early morn. If I may, I am offering up a preemptive apology if this doesn't flow all that well. It is late, and despite the insomnia, I am tired. Thanks for the grace!
Ready?
Here we go...
Can I be honest? Labels frustrate the heck out of me. In fact, they genuinely piss me off. Now don't get me wrong: I know we need labels on things like soup cans and cereal boxes and wasp killer spray, but if there's one place labels don't belong it's on a human being. It's not that all labels are bad. If they describe some arbitrary trait (tall, skinny, bright) they can be extremely helpful, but most labels don't stop there. They don't merely describe some arbitrary fact, they often connote worth and value; they become a part of a person's identity.
Slow
Lazy
Emotional
Fake
Cripple
Gimp
Burden
Irrational
Impulsive
Indecisive
Controlling
Cold
Screw up
Messy
At one time or another, in word or action, someone somewhere labeled me a few of these. It's very probable that you can relate to them, as well. And most likely the labels you were given are affecting you, even today. Someone told you one time too many that you are too controlling so you've accepted the label and have lived up to that expectation. Or maybe you were told you're not athletic enough and you eventually listened and quit playing volleyball, even for fun.
For me, the labels slow, cripple, and burden are neatly tied up into one package with a deceivingly beautiful bow. Those of you who know me can understand why I would be slapped with such labels. When you roam around God's creation with a distinct groove such as mine, it doesn't go unnoticed. And when you don't go unnoticed, people pay attention, and when people pay attention, they first thing they often spot are the short comings; the ways in which you fail to meet their standards. Which brings me to my intense disdain for my labels and the inevitable discrimination they bring.
The point of this blog isn't to be a bitter, angry rant, but if I may for just a moment?
Discrimination sucks. It angers me ever so intensely. At my last job my boss told me flat out that I was a burden to him and should seek employment elsewhere. He then fired me for being late once two weeks after telling me that the one instance of lateness was no big deal. He is now fighting my unemployment claim. This angers me not just because it makes my life challenging, but because I know I am not the only one out there suffering labels from others that fail to respect the beauty of their life and to appreciate the good they do bring to the world. And it angers me because I know that they, like me, are struggling to feel valued and worthy, to feel like their life can have a real, good, impact on the world around them. They, too, have been told that they can't, that they aren't good enough, that they are too slow.
When I look at the Bible and see what it says about words and labels, we see that the characters handled words and labels (names) with amazing intention. The new testament says that there is the power of life and death in the tongue. In the old testament we see parents naming children with great meaning. God even goes so far to rename some of the most influential people in the Bible (Abram --> Abraham, Jacob --> Israel, Saul --> Paul), shaping their identity in the process. This leads me to believe that the words we speak to one another, the labels and beyond, are sooo important and should not be taken lightly.
Can we live in a society without labels? Probably not. Labels help us organize and make sense of the world around us. But as long as we must have labels, couldn't we at least have labels that inspire, labels that encourage and promote life?
The past couple weeks I've been looking for the labels that are on me, one way or another. I've been wondering, "Is this who I am? Does this really define me? Should it? What is the truth about me and my worth/value?"
You know what I've discovered? I am not a cripple or even a disabled person. I am human, just as you are human. Your true identity begins and ends in the fact that you were formed by a creative God who set His image upon you. We were created in the Imago Dei; Father, Son, Spirit. And I am working to make it so that is the only "label" I allow myself to wear. I hope you are able to do the same.
I once was ashamed of my anger, believing I was wrong for feeling this way. I once believed that I should accept the way the world was and simply try to get along unnoticed. It is clear to me now, more than ever, that I cannot go unnoticed. And more importantly? I believe that the anger I have is good. I believe it is good to be lovingly intolerant of abuse and discrimination. I believe it will enable me to take a stand against injustice that quenches life. I believe that this loving intolerance will give redemption hands and feet and will invite a bit of heaven to crash into earth.
