One of the blessings of being a lot older than I used to be is having the gift of perspective.  Lately, I have been pondering how, throughout much of our lives, we are defined by boxes of various shapes and sizes.  Some of the boxes are chosen for us, or are boxes we have no choices about.  Others are boxes that we decide on.  Sometimes, when boxes are chosen for us, they are the result of desires and hopes of others, such as desires and hopes of our parents.  Other boxes are the result of societal expectations.  Others are simply assigned out of convenience, and not necessarily our convenience.

How many times in our lives do we meet a new person and are asked, “what do you do?”  In that instant, we must decide whether or not we are going to deliver our 30 second “elevator speech”, or we must decide whether or how to indulge the inquiry.

I have often struggled to deliver elevator speeches, not for lack of content, but for feeling incomplete when doing so.  One of the blessings from working at my former employer was a fully paid 12 week Dale Carnegie Training course.  Admittedly I was somewhat skeptical of the training when I started.  But as I went through the class I began to realize that every person I meet has an interesting story to tell, a lot more than we know from random snippets of conversations, if we only had enough time to listen to each and every story.  It’s sad that sometimes we only hear that whole life story at the end, after that person has slipped the surly bonds of earth.

I picked a random friend from the top of my head, and here are only a few things I know about him:

• Prep school educated
• Navy veteran
• Son, brother, husband, father
• Retired administrator
• Board of directors
• Suffers some medical issues
• Beer and wine lover
• Homeowner
• Caring friend and father

These are all words, but these words are boxes that try to encapsulate a human and a soul which is so much richer than these mere words can describe.  How can I describe my friend’s great humanity, sense of humor and caring for people so much that he would try and use his amazing sense of humor to defuse a politically charged situation?  That he cares so much about his friends that he maintains a list of all their birthdays and sends out birthday cards to all of them?  That he coaches youth soccer just for the thrill of seeing kids learn something fun?  Why do I have to put him in a box to try and understand him?  I will never fully know all of who my friend is, and all that he is capable of.

Throughout my life, I have chafed from being put into boxes, and especially those which were not of my choosing.  To their credit, my parents said that being an American means that you can choose to be anything you want to be.  But right after that, they would say, “and these are the types of things that are good to grow up to be:  doctors, lawyers.  Don’t be a teacher or a preacher or a musician, they don’t make any money.  Oh, but if you got accepted at the famous Juilliard Conservatory, which you will never be, that would be okay.  And don’t be an accountant, they are never home on April 15.  And whatever you do, don’t be a garbageman or a fireman or a police officer.”  What’s wrong with being a police officer if that’s what I would want to do?

Not all boxes are verbally described.  One day, in an evening discussion about worship music, someone important said that our church’s worship music was not proper because we didn’t sing laments.  I heard that statement, and it had been a long, long tough couple of months at my workplace, and from the deepest bowels of my soul came this cry, “Listen – when I come to church on Sunday, I don’t want to sing a bunch of laments.  My whole week is a lament.  I come to church on Sunday to be reminded that God is Good, and that He cares.”  My cry of absolute anguish was met with silence.  Absolute silence.  Not one of the people at that table would look at me or even make eye contact.  Not one person ever acknowledged that I had even said anything.  But I can tell you that things were quite different after that.  I had been put into a box.  I couldn’t tell which one, but I knew it wasn’t a good box.  And I knew I had been heard because a few weeks later, our worship leader said, “We have this song this week, it’s a lament, but it’s a happy lament.”  Ouch.  After that, nobody would talk with me about what had happened, but I knew something had happened.  The most disappointing thing to me was the mere fact that nobody had the courage to tell me what, if anything, I had done or what policy or position I violated, or who I had upset.  It is a frustrating place to be – knowing that you have been put “on the outside” without knowing why.

Fortunately in my life, others reminded me that I had a heart.  A big caring heart.  That I was capable.  And Honest.  Also, that I “gave a shit.”  That I was a good mentor and teacher.  And other people believed in me.  Because some people believed in me, supported me, coached me, pushed me, I have learned to do many things, including, but not limited to:

• fly a small airplane
• sail a boat
• sew
• quilt
• take photographs

I know that I am not perfect, and I knew, after another amount of time had gone by that I was not in a good, healthy space, either.  I didn’t want to leave, but I couldn’t stay in an environment where people would not be honest with me.  I finally decided I should look for a new church.  After some searching, I found another church where people encourage me in my faith and accept that I am imperfect.  I still miss the people I left at my old church.  My new church is by no means a perfect place either, but it doesn’t claim to be.  Because of the grace extended to us by Jesus, my new community feels free to embrace everyone, just because.  This community accepts everyone without limitation.  In this more listening, caring and nurturing environment, I am slowly healing and learning to be:

• a writer
• a companion
• myself
• a follower of Jesus

If there is a box I don’t mind being in, it’s the one called “follower of Jesus.”  And I like that I don’t have to and will not hide who I am anymore.  There are those who may want to put me in a box, but nobody can put me in a box not of my choosing anymore.  I don’t fit in anybody else’s box any more than someone can try to put God in a box.  I’m done with trying to fit in other peoples’ boxes.  I’m going to keep working for the rest of my life on being the person that God made me to be, and use the gifts He gave me, some of which I am sure I am not aware of yet, to make his kingdom on earth a little bit better place than when I arrived.  Every day, I learn a little bit more about me and what more I am capable of.  It is a scary journey, to keep taking new beginning steps, but I have forced myself this year to be courageous and take those new steps out of those old boxes, into a new place which has infinite possibilities.