I've only seen the movie "Babe" twice, and both times I cried at the end. For those who haven't seen the movie, the next paragraph is a definite spoiler.
After Babe steps into the arena to round up the sheep, he is met with jeering crowds, doubtful judges, and a hopeful farmer. After all, the farmer himself has a few skeptics wondering if he's lost his mind. But no matter, Babe learns the secret sheep code and gently herds them to the proper places, and as the crowd is silenced and the judges amazed, the farmer says very quietly to Babe, "That'll do, Pig. That'll do."
And that's where I cry. That simple statement is more than an affirmation. He may not have jumped for joy or screamed in victory, but he is satisfied, and in his quiet way he says all that he needs to. He is proud that the pig has done what he knew he could do, and he doesn't need to puff up the pig with big words...the simple confident thanks is enough.
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Sunday at church we were singing during worship, and a familiar voice began to gnaw at my mind. These songs aren't that exciting. They definitely aren't all that new. They aren't vineyard music. I wish we had more contemporary stuff. I wish we had our old church. I wish I could have the church I grew up in stay the way it was with my Dad playing trombone and me being happy. I wish, I wish, I wish....
And I realized a few things. One, of course is that not much worshipping is being done while I'm being critical. And the second is that I have no real need to be critical. And I'm tired of it. And third, I don't want my kids to be subject to the Sunday weekly criticism that I endured growing up, and is probably the very reason I'm so critical of everything myself.
If it wasn't the preaching, it was the music. If it wasn't the music, it was the Sunday School. If it wasn't the Sunday School, it was the teacher. There was always something. My mother didn't mean to be this way, I am sure. But she was. And it wasn't just at church. My father had more faults than good traits, and I remember many times when the effort I'd put forth in cleaning or something was not quite "good enough."
And now I'm the same way. Boom can help out and I'll find ways to nit pick. There will be no reason to find fault with him, but apparently I'm not content until I do. Lack of self confidence on my behalf? I'm not sure, but I'm beginning to get tired of it. And on church on Sunday, I decided to stop my bitterness and enjoy the fellowship of believers and worship with my heart.
Kind of like the song, "I'm coming back to the heart of worship, and it's all about YOU...." I know that there is no perfect church. But I like that we have many families coming together in one place for one purpose. We are all imperfect, and to expect a perfect church to come about from imperfect people is ridiculous. I know many people end up meeting with just their own family, but truthfully, we aren't all perfect, either, and I'd rather deal with the imperfections of a large group of people and make friends and be encouraged, than to be safe with my own family, but lonely and eventually encounter our own problems.
So I need to quit being cantankerous. And yet outside of church I find that the lifestyle I have adopted tends to also be critical of others. Whether in self defense or in judgment, I'm not sure. Or maybe in the defense of those innocents that are lied to by the majority.
Either way, I find myself criticizing hospital births, those who let their child cry it out for days, those who trust doctors without even researching on their own. And I get frustrated. I get frustrated because I don't see how anyone can let a child cry for hours, wanting only to be held, and only for the reason that this child should learn to "self-sooth." I get frustrated that people trust doctors who induce for no reason, then thank that same doctor for saving their baby's life because of all the complications that ensued, not realizing that had they waited for the baby to come on it's own there might not have BEEN any complications in the first place. And I'm REALLY frustrated with doctors who tell mothers that their breast milk is not sufficient and they need to supplement with formula.
And yet I'm trapped by my own critical-ness. I don't vaccinate. And so there are people who don't understand why I don't let my children's bodies fight their own diseases. (for what it's worth, I knew a lady growing up who had polio because her parents didn't vaccinate, and I could not do that to my children. I DID do research on both sides, and this is what I've chosen.) I was actually planning to circumcise, before I had Pumpkin. I still don't think it's horrible (after all, since God had his "chosen" people circumcised, I don't think He would mutilate them or cause them to experience less pleasurable sex, since He created it, after all.) But then I changed my mind because there wasn't enough to convince me to go through with it.
And so I know that each choice one makes is THEIR decision, and yet I remain critical, skeptical, at times bitter. And for what?
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And then I thought about how I think of God. I picture Him often to be critical of ME. That He is always disappointed and thinking that I'm not "good enough." That no matter how hard I try, I will never add up.
Oh, I know there's the whole "grace" thing...but I don't actually GET IT, not completely. I mean, I understand what it means and how it's supposed to "work." But I don't live like I believe it. I still fear the repercussions of the mistakes and bad decisions I make. If I feed my kids fruit that isn't organic or even washed...will there be a mark against me? I knew better...I had no excuse (beside low funds), and I'm supposed to be the best parent I can be...so does that count?
I'd like to think, sometimes, that God is like that farmer in Babe. That He believes in me and that He is proud of me. And though I'm not perfect, and I know good works and intentions don't "earn" you anything, that maybe He will see my heart and know that at least I TRIED to do my best, as I knew how, with what I had.
I think that even though it would be wonderful to hear my Father utter the words, "Well done good and faithful servant," I'd be just as happy to hear him say quietly, "That'll do, Prism. That'll do."
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1 comment:
Wow. That's really a lot to digest. I, too, am very critical, and I've often wondered what the source is for that seed of bitterness. My parents were perfectionists--indeed, my dad is still obsessive-compulsive, though only over certain things--and I often heard the words of negativity and criticism that feeds my drive for perfection today. I want to prove my parents--even my dead mother--wrong about their opinions of me. My room was a pig-sty. My house would look like a slum, they were sure. I was compared to the "neighborhood slob" who was grossly obese, had eight kids and whose disaster of a house smelled of urine all the time. I fight against those judgements every day, and yet, I find myself placing similar ones on my own children. Nothing is ever good enough or done as well as I would have done it. It's a very difficult psychological battle.
My prayers for you!
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