No, I'm not Tina Turner.

When I was six years old, I went to a party for a young friend. In my little party-favor bag was a keychain that proclaimed, "No, I'm not Tina Turner". This was quite a thoughtful gift because, as you can see from these pictures, many people were mistaking me for Tina Turner, and the keychain would help set them to rights.  

Tina Turner, circa 1984

Beth, age 6 

It was on my house key for years, drawing awkward stares from people who had no intention of confusing me with Tina Turner. 

I was reminded of my honest keychain recently, and it has me thinking about mistaken identity (perhaps of a more believable nature).

I attend an art class for adults. The teacher is a very dear woman, but she has this crazy notion that I am very sophisticated and elegant.  I wonder how her opinion might change if she saw me rushing out the door in the morning, dropping my egg and toast on the patio, picking it up, brushing it off, and eating it anyway. Appearances can be so deceiving.

My husband and I often joke about the proverbial "hall pass" given to those who look like they have it together. If you look squeaky clean and well kept, many will assume that you have got your life in order. On the other hand, those who are a little rough around the edges, have the "wrong" skin or hair, wrong clothes, carry a few extra pounds... well, good luck to them. 

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."  Antoine de Saint-Exupery

But who truly sees with the heart? Who is it that knows us rightly? Who are we, really? 

For those who celebrate Lent, Ash Wednesday was yesterday, and my husband and I went to a night service.  I love these forty days, culminating in the passion week and Resurrection. On Ash Wednesday, Lent begins with the reminder that we are dust, destined to experience death, caught by the curse of sin.

I went forward and received my mark, a cross of ashes on my forehead. The missteps of the week flooded my mind. All these petty, angry, selfish, fearful thoughts and actions played out before me.   Even the good deeds were tinged with pride and self-congratulation.  A slew of failures.

So this is who I am. Dust and Ashes. A piece of clay, full of cracks. 

But the Cross. It is a cross of ashes, a cross for ashes. The cross to save us... because make no mistake, we need saving. We are a compendium of private and public failures, trapped by inevitable death. 

The Cross for ashes. The great love symbol. The symbol of the One who sees with the heart, knows us completely, and loves us anyway.

So this is who I am. Beloved. Sought after. Saved by gracious love.

I place myself beneath the cross, a beggar with nothing to offer, so that I may be filled with Love again. And perhaps then this ash and clay, full of cracks, will show God's glory. 

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us." 2 Corinthians 4:7 

I think it's safe to say that no one will ever mistake me for Tina Turner, but maybe, on a very good day, when I have surrendered afresh, someone will see my cracks and mistake me for Christ. 

Meditation Exercise: A Testament

This reflection was created by a Jesuit from India named Anthony De Mello. It's intended to help us live more reflectively. I think it's worth doing with people we care about, a spouse, sibling, friend... And it's worth doing between ourselves and God, to take stock of who we have been, and who we are now. Perhaps you can take a moment, and think about one or two of the "points" listed below. 

A Testament

I imagine that today I am to die.
I ask for time to be alone and write down for my friends a sort of testament.  The following points could serve as chapter titles.

1. These things I have loved in life:
    Things I tasted,
    looked at,
    smelled,
    heard,
    touched.

2.  These experiences I have cherished:

3. These ideas have brought me liberation:

4. These beliefs I have outgrown:

5. These convictions I have lived by:

6. These are things I have lived for:

7. These insights I have gained in the school of life:
    Insights into God,
    the world,
    human nature,
    Jesus Christ,
    love,
    religion,
    prayer.

8. These risks I took,
            these dangers I courted:

9. These sufferings have seasoned me:

10. These lessons life has taught me:

11. These influences have shaped my life
            (persons, occupations, books, events):

12. These scripture texts have lit my path:

13. These things I regret about my life:

14. These are my life's achievements:

15. These people are enshrined within my heart:

16. These are my unfulfilled desires:

I choose an ending for this document:
       a poem-- my own or someone else's;
       or a prayer;
       a sketch or a picture from a magazine;
       a scripture text;
       or anything that I judge would be an apt conclusion to my testament.


 (taken from Hearts on Fire: Praying with the Jesuits)

Got an Anxious on your back?

My Anxious

It is so easy to acquire an Anxious. All you need is something to worry about, an unknown with some negative possibilities attached, and presto! An Anxious can be yours.

I made mine fuzzy purple and green. Although cutely muppet-like, make no mistake, it is heavy. And it hangs on.

It thinks it's so welcome because of all those dire circumstances. It makes itself at home on my forehead when I try to go to sleep. It tags along in the car, reminding me that there could be dark clouds on the horizon.  It sits with me over tea, categorizing all the ways that something bad can happen. Its favorite phrase is "What if..?", but never with a nice outcome.

It really is a nuisance, this Anxious.

I know that for some folks, an Anxious is the result of a little faulty brain chemistry, eased quickly with a bit of medical help.

But my Anxious capitalizes on another faulty brain system: my memory.  I am so forgetful sometimes.  I forget that I am on a journey with a very good God, who loves me better than anyone else ever could. I forget that my big Father knows what is good for me and had made certain promises to me, like "I will never leave you or forsake you...I will help you, I will strengthen you, I will hold you up with my righteous right hand... I will work out all things for the good of those who love me... Every good and perfect gift comes from me.... I am your refuge, and nothing can separate you from my love."

When storm clouds start their ominous rumble, I forget all these true things.  I also forget that this Savior-Friend of mine has a track record of faithfulness. Even when my life has been horrible, he finds a way to make something beautiful. He has always provided for me. He's always taught me something new and important. He's never let me down... but I forget.

I forget all those things and the Anxious seizes an opportunity to latch on to my cable-knit for a ride.

I suppose I'm a slow learner. What was it that all those old testament prophets and patriarchs always said? Remember... Remember how your clothing and shoes did not wear out? Remember that sea, parting for your freedom when you thought all was lost?  Remember the child, promised and delivered in old age? Remember?  What was it that those New Testament disciples kept proclaiming? Remember... Remember how he fed 5000 people with so little food? Remember how he healed that woman, stopping to listen to her history of woe? Remember Lazarus coming out of that tomb? Remember "It is finished!" and "I have overcome the world"? Remember?

But if I really want to get the Anxious off my back, I have to do more than remember.  I have to trust. Trust that He who began a good work will bring it to completion. Trust that he will lead me if I will follow, and he never goes the wrong way. If I can remember his faithfulness, and commit my heart to trust him, that Anxious hasn't got a snowflake's chance in hell.

I need to remember. I need to trust.  Those things that hover threateningly? God is not surprised or frightened by them.  He's pretty big, you know, bigger than any ill wind or night terror. So if I am with him, hiding out under that big arm, holding that big hand, I don't need to worry about a thing.

I really can be anxious for nothing. I just need to remember the truth and trust it... He has always, always, always been faithful.

I love him, and oh man, I KNOW he loves me.  He is such a good God.