Like a Child
There are times that I am convinced that my father still
thinks I’m five. Or if not five,
six. He’ll be driving somewhere with me
in the passenger seat and crack some joke or try to have me sing-along a
strange tune with him and I won’t do either.
Then he’ll say, “You used to always sing along!” or “You used to always
laugh at this!” All the while, I’m
thinking I’m eighteen now. It’s just not that funny anymore and I am
just too self-conscious now.
Self-conscious. What
a nasty pair of words they have become.
On the outside, they seem fine.
You are aware of who you are. You
are aware of where you are. You are
aware of your own talents and limits.
But they have such a bad connotation at the same time. When people call you self-conscious, they
usually don’t mean it in a good way. “You’re
too self-conscious about how you dress!”
“You’re too self-conscious about your hair!” “You’re too self-conscious of what others
think of you!”
Ann Voskamp often writes about experiences with her
children. And one particular scene when
her daughter takes picture and Voskamp is in awe over the different perspective
because her daughter is so much shorter than her. Reading it, my mind wandered to how
un-self-conscious children are. They
find something funny; their joyous trills of laughter fill the room. They get hurt; you will know no matter how
far away they are in your house. At my
church, I’ve always loved it when a child starts to answer the pastor’s
rhetorical questions, even the ones that he did want the answer. While the adults are silently and solemnly
sitting there, the children will speak up and let you know the answer. Psalm 8:2, “From the lips of children and
infants, you have ordained praise . . .”
Perhaps my fondness of children speaking up in church stems
from my own experience. There was a
special speaker at our church and it was separate from our normal service. There was no care for children so I was
sitting in the back with a few others, trying to be good. The speaker began to speak about the early
athletes and how they competed naked. I found
this part interesting if not gross
and was paying attention. He began to
compare Paul to an athlete and stated that “Paul prayed naked”. Now what he meant was that he prayed
completely and totally open and exposed to God, without any shame, but what I
heard was that Paul, who I learned about in Sunday School, prayed naked.
So I let everyone there know that I was paying
attention. “He prayed naked?!” The entire room heard me exclaim it and the
man was shocked. He hemmed and hawed for
a few moments as he stumbled into an explanation for me and anyone else who
might not have understood. I had embarrassed
him, admittedly inadvertently, but he was embarrassed.
Though none of us may be willing to interrupt any talks or
sermons no matter how much we aren’t self-conscious, there are other ways that
it can manifest. That hat you love but
will never wear because it catches too much attention. That favorite shirt that is just a bit too
tight that you will never wear because it makes you look “fat”. That scar always hidden. That opinion never stated. We hide bits and pieces of ourselves so that we
are safe, we are normal, and they can’t make fun of us or judge us.
Then that person walks by, with seemingly no shame, and we
are envious that we can’t do the same. But we can. It may not even be big at first but just
laughing whole heartedly at something we found funny. Running when we feel like running. But it is a step towards what we admire most
in children.
I’m holding little J as our dog avoids him. Kelsey walks up to my dad and does her potty
hop. At first, it was funny but now she
does it so much we just try to interpret what she is trying to say. J immediately bursts into uncontrollable
giggles and everyone in the room smiles except
for Kelsey who is cowering. There is
nothing so refreshing as the unrestrained joy of a child. Why then do we hide it as adults?
(730 words)
