Essay ~ Being Wrong ~ NL ~ 2

Being Wrong

By: Naomi Lea

     Personality quizzes always ask how you take criticism. "Do you take criticism well, or do you tend to take correction personally as if your worth as a human is based on your performance?" I believe those questions should be reworded. "How well can you mask the embarrassment of being wrong in front of others? Do you allow your emotions to affect your further performance, or can you compartmentalize them to be processed later?" Nobody likes to be wrong. Regardless of how you answer those questions on the personality quizzes, I think that no one in the world is perfect enough to be sincerely good at taking criticism. One might be pretty good at deadening the senses of shame to keep going, but the memory of making a mistake does not leave the mind so easily.

     But, perhaps I'm speaking too much for others. Maybe there really are some folks who like being criticized or take correction with an open heart and mind. Maybe there are some Christians who, when in a frustrating situation, instinctively drop to their knees in prayer and say, "O gracious heavenly Father, please reveal to me your good and perfect will which requires me to undergo this period of trial and tribulation. I count it all joy!" Is that what people expect Christians to do? If it is, I fall far from that expectation. In fact, I feel quite saintly if I just don't break something in a rage or binge eat my emotions.

     So why is being wrong so life-shattering for me? Why does it make me so frustrated? I am human, therefor I am imperfect and bound to make mistakes. However, this knowledge does not help in the slightest when experiencing these feelings of shame and embarrassment. When I'm in the moment feeling extremely abashed or mortified, it feels like absolutely nothing can quell my internal churning and writhing. I feel incapable of help and don't want any either. I want to stay mad and try to get out of my mess on my own. I got myself here, so I can pull myself out, too. I can research and read and figure things out on my own. I'm quite capable by myself. Who needs God when he outfitted me with a working brain and body to solve my own problems. I'll get back to God and check in with Him once I get past this obstacle on my own.

     And I wonder why being wrong bothers me so much? I get so confident in my abilities, I forget about Him who gave the abilities to me. I forget that I am only creation and still learning how to use my gifted functions. I forget what I did as a child; whenever I made a mistake or was confused about something, I always asked my parents. They almost always made me feel better or helped me with whatever was bothering me. I forget that I can still do that. I have a heavenly Father who is always available and ready to take any questions and comfort any hurts. I forget that He is with me always and that the first thing I should do in times of trouble is to drop down to my knees and pray.

     Being wrong is so frustrating because the only way to recover from the pain is to shift my attention from myself and what I did to God and what He can do for me through this experience. It is difficult to do. I am not good at it by any means, but that is what I am called to do as a Christian. I am called to confess where I am wrong and go through that grieving process of denying the part of me that wants to stay self-centered. I am also called to help and encourage others who also struggle with being wrong and taking criticism (everyone). As Christians, we are called to love. Though it is not easy in the slightest, it is so necessary. I encourage us all (myself included) to confess our wrongs and our negative feelings regarding our mistakes. I challenge us all to take the Lord's criticism and let it change and transform us. Being wrong is hard, but it is inevitable. We must recover from the blows of being incorrect, take God's hand, and keep living in Him.

Poetry ~ Wonder of the Meadow ~ LbtS ~ 1

"Wonder of the Meadow"

By: Lady By The Sea

Sometimes I wonder if all people lose that magic;
the magic they felt when running through
an open meadow of over grown grass and wildflowers
with the wind nipping at your hair as you imagine you're flying
high above the meadow into the bright blue sky;
kissing the clouds with small fingers,
drinking in the warmth of the sun
that only slightly blinds
the bright wide eyes
of a child.

Unhindered by cynicism
and complex idealism
of the adult mind,
so bent on getting the job done
faster and faster and faster,
often forgetting to laugh and dream
as innocently as the child
running though the meadow.

Thank God for the artist
that captures the magic of the meadows
through colors, lines, and shapes.
Thank God for the composer,
that can capture the wonder
of flying through the sky
though instruments and notes.
Thank God for the writer
that can describe a child playing
through words and phrases.

Oh, thank God for the creative!

Sometimes I wonder if all people lose that magic;
that their hearts are sometimes stolen.
But, then, I don't.
For who could forget
the magic of innocent imagination
when the creative are around!

Poetry ~ "Ickyness" ~ NL ~ 1

"Ickyness"

By: Naomi Lea

I know what I am supposed to do.

I know how I should do it too.

But, this mess

in my chest

keeps me from doing my best.

There's a sludge that is clogging me.

I can't budge when I try to break free.

This Ickyness

does arrest

my mind and I feel worthless.

I want to shake this nasty stuff off.

But, then no, I want to stay aloft.

Sure it's gross,

I won't boast

about how nasty I do grow.

New days come and I set my resolve

to be better and erase it all

in my own

strength alone,

like He is not with me; unknown.

I want to lay this Ickyness down;

to throw and trample it on the ground;

to kill it

so legit,

that it dies and the pain will quit.

Why is it so hard for me to stop

and end this madness; just let it drop?

It's easy,

but kills me

because I don't want Him to see.

Like I could keep Him from anything.

Who made the universe and all that sings?

He is God

who has sought

His image in Creation wrought.

His hands made me and all that I am,

but He's not done, no, he has a plan:

hacking down,

shaping round

and cleaning me; making me found.

Soon this Ickyness will let me be:

He will come and set all of me free.

Oh, but first,

I must burst

from pride and only for Him thirst.

Until I let Him in to do work,

I slam the door fast, shut with a jerk;

scared to do

what is true

and make my life His glory prove.

Lord, please help me with this Ickyness.

Without you, everything is a mess.

I submit,

I will quit

covering up my candle lit.

Oh, dear God, I need your help now please.

I'm begging you here, down on my knees.

Without You,

I can do

nothing; everything I lose.