Be Sincere

Me, After Falling off a Mountain Bike my Freshman Year 

Freshman year of college: the first line of A Tale of Two Cities come to life, the best and the worst, squished up in eight months running by on fast forward. I am a confident eighteen-year-old when I arrive, a battle-worn, insecure nineteen-year-old when I leave. Nothing will ever be the same.

I sat in the bishop's office that September and received my first calling as an official adult: ward missionary. The words of the blessing I received when I was set apart still ripple through the events that followed like an echoing mantra.  Be sincere.

Sincerity. Dropping down from the superficial place of rules, and rote motions, into the nitty-gritty of life. Exploring the rawness of the human experience in a way that can't leave you unmarked. The only way I could reach God's children as a missionary. Diving in took me from room to room, place to place until that time is an "everything has changed" moment, the fall-back point I still return to after nearly twelve years. Be sincere.

We can't help if we don't see people, if we don't let ourselves be touched by their experiences. We can't give of ourselves if we are protecting ourselves.

It's watching the ones I love struggle. Wanting to give them the gospel, but knowing it's not time yet. It's inadequacy, crying harder than I ever had in my life, and hurting someone even though I tried everything I could not to. It's getting sick, winter depression, and anxiety attacks on the steps outside the dorms. It's the parking lot in mid-day, couched by a sobbing friend who's world had been split through and crumpled up. The worst of times.

It's first love, piles of leaves, rainfall, and sketching on the quad. Music, paper mache balloons, and the safety of my friend, Anne's, bedroom day after day. It's standing in front of a life-size painting of Christ and being moved in a way I'd never experienced, feeling the veil thin in the loneliness of learning of my cousin's passing, and telling God I would let Him lead me to wherever He wanted me to go. The best of times.

It's going home for the summer, and not realizing I wouldn't go back. A single experience, gone. There'd been no time to waste on anything but being sincere.

No time to waste.

In the last few weeks, I sketched over my outline for my newest non-fiction book. I struggled to fill in the gaps, the ever lingering left-over pages. What did God want me to do with this book? How could I make it worth something to someone?

The answer came at writer's group, simple and familiar. It is to peel back the wall between me and my reader, exposing the person underneath the words. It's letting the person I am, and the girl that I was enter the pages and bleed out a little. God made me me for a reason. I can't wall-up myself and help the way I need to. The words are on replay, echoing to me with colors of freshman year.  Be sincere. There are no pages to waste, no words to loose.

The Collective Woman: Celebrate Greatness

     My eighteen year old niece and I stood at the edge of a room full of incoming college freshmen. She likes to get the lay of a room before she enters, and I know that, so we paused, and our eyes drifted over the faces. Many of them turned to look us over as well. My cute niece with bright blue eyes, long blond hair and fitting jeans attracted the gaze of more than a few young men. One or two of the young women glanced over in confident interest, the look that said, "We could be besties." 

But most of the looks from women tried to show disdain or disinterest, some even openly discouraging. 

I admit it. Sometimes I kind of want to hide from women like that, and I silently prayed that my niece would be able to separate her own worth from that mirrored in the reactions of others. 

"There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so small that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in us, it’s in everyone. As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
Marianne Williamson, 1992/1994 Inaugural Speech -Nelson Mandela

On another afternoon, the large conference room fell silent as a skinny, gorgeous, young brunette slinked in through the double doors. All eyes gave her the once over from her spiky heels to her tight black leather pants to her fitted sweater. Mmm. Hmm. You know what we were thinking, and it wasn't kind. No way was this woman, whoever she was, going to penetrate through more than our polite smile and weather talk. 

But instead of sitting beside us in the audience so we could snub her, she moved to the front of the room and joined the others on the platform. Oh no. The collective groan rolled in waves even though no one dared make a noise. 

Our worst suspicions confirmed, someone introduced her as our keynote and soon she was standing in front of us, making all kinds of jokes. We couldn't help it. We laughed, and we warmed toward her. But then she said, "And here I am, six months pregnant..." 

Silence. And then an actual audible negative noise. Was it a hiss? A moan? A humph? I can't remember, but the noise spoke for us all. No way could we love a woman who looked that good in leather while six months pregnant. Mmmm, mmm. Not happening. And our attention drifted.

 We are supposed to hate beautiful, confident, skinny women. It makes us feel better.

I went to dinner with a wonderful friend who works in finance. She was feeling the stress of a new promotion and subsequent performance reviews, a new boss and new employees. I asked her about her boss, and she said he was good, tough, but not as tough as a woman. Curious, I encouraged her to explain. Her experience has been that women feel competitive towards other women in the workforce and instead of helping them rise, they try to stifle and oppress. 

If another woman succeeds at work, then she might take your place.

Stephen R. Covey talked about the abundance vs scarcity mentality. 

Abundance Mentality: Something wonderful happens to someone else, and you think, "Awesome! Now I know that could happen to me too."

Scarcity Mentality: Something wonderful happens to someone else, you feel actual fear, because there is a pie of good things available to humankind and if someone takes a piece, that much less is available for you to grab.

During a busy week of the year, with activities every day for each child, I fell behind. Too often, I let my children down for one thing or another. One particularly awful day, I had fifteen minutes to buy the supplies my daughter needed from the grocery store. I ran through the aisles, filled my cart, and said a prayer of gratitude that a register was open with no line. 

I reached for my wallet to swipe the credit card early and dug around the bottom of my Coach purse. I widened the bag, tilting it to the side. No wallet. I dug in one of the pockets and pulled out my checkbook, my french manicured nails resting delicately on the side of the Vera Bradley check book case. "Do you take checks?" Desperate, I didn't want to fail another child. My heart sank and I searched my mind for any solution.

The girl shook her head, explaining new store policy. I scanned faces, feeling more desperate, shifting my high heeled shoes back and forth. A line had formed behind me by now, eyes staring pointedly at me.

Then the lady behind me asked, "How much is your order?" 

"Oh, it's $75." 

Shrugging, knowing it was too much for anyone's generosity to cover, I started clearing the conveyor belt so others could check out. But she stopped me and offered to pay for the whole thing. I put up a bit of fuss but saw in her eyes a sincerity I knew I would hurt if I didn't accept. Tears on my cheeks, I hugged her tightly and promised to pay it forward.

    Abundance mentality. I had a new haircut. My business casual clothes were freshly pressed. I did not send off any helpless vibes or any weakness that could have endeared this woman to me. Instead, she helped me just because she saw a need and stepped in to fill it.

Also consider, we could be hating all of these perfect women for no reason. Remember that of everyone you meet, many will be going through an awful crises, and not a single one is perfect. 

 

That lovely pregnant woman in the leather? She was going through a divorce. Her husband left her and their still unborn second child. Our opinion of her changes with that knowledge, but it shouldn't. We don't need to know she is experiencing a crises to recognize she is a human, deserving of love. 

  As I stood with my niece on the threshold of that room, watching women who were obviously looking forward to taking her down a peg or two, I felt nervous. She is full of hope and happiness as she envisions her life unfolding before her. She has an incredible naiveté and the faith and hope of one who expects life to treat her well.  If I could put a sign on her that she had to unknowingly wear all the time, it would say, 

"Be kind. Think well of me. I am insecure and would love to connect in real friendship." 

But I know that women will not want to think well of her, and so I write this plea. Can we not do better as women? Can we not live and let live or even better, SOAR and help others to Soar? 

Be the best you can; and I'll cheer for you even if you excel to heights I could never reach, because you are a woman, and that makes you a part of me. Together we make a whole: Our half of the human race. And when one of us rises, it proves that we all can. Your skinny tight leather makes me look good too, not because I'm wearing it, but because you are, and you look fantastic.