hard conversations. healing. hope.

 

Up until about 5-6 years ago, I was a gossiper. In the 6th grade, even, I got an award- a "superlative" in a sense- that I've never forgotten: I was dubbed the "Motown Motormouth" of my grade. Now, as a teacher, I cannot fathom giving one of my scholars such an epithet; it seems insulting, actually, but I guess in the 80s it was ok...sigh...

Suffice it to say, though, I ran my mouth. 

A lot. 

To the detriment of friends and family- no one was immune to the slicing and dicing of my tongue. 

For me, though, in hindsight, looking at the "why" of it, my motormouth intention was never to share information simply for the sake of sharing; no no- I had to tell all I knew in order to bolster my own security, to make myself visible and important. I had to insert myself into all the situations to make sure I was "included," was "needed." I was the town cryer, I reckon- once I had that wee cup of "tea," I had to spill it to all whose ears were available... usually in the form of folded up origami-notes or conversations on the rotary-dial phone with the cord stretched, greatly testing each coil's tensile strength... propping and securing the emotional needs of "Jenny, the-knower-of all-things-which-makes-her-an-amazing-person..."

Phone cords have given way to all-night screens and short attention spans. Folded notes have become stupid dance posts, filtered not-real-life pics, and little hearts- and if those heartlikes don't accumulate as quickly as one hopes, all is lost- they become the "no one saw me." "Friends" and "followers" on the glowing glass become replacements for time-and-space presence, and in no way are they genuine. 

I see the 'then-Jenny' stretching the phone cord now, in the halls of the high school where I work. I hear those notes being folded up- those valuable pencil-scratches of all-knowing, waiting to be shoved into lockers and purses and TrapperKeepers, eager for them to be crammed into my blue "important" folder, in the cafeteria and in the gathering spots of the awkwardly fabulous middle school spaces. And the 'then-Jenny' wants to hang up that phone with the satisfying finality of the loud slam, wants to rip the origami-drama from their hands, wants to scream how much she is certain that knowing the ALL doesn't MAKE you the ALL-KNOWING. It doesn't make you the best friend or the girlfriend or the coolest kid in the school, and even if it does, it doesn't LAST and it isn't REAL.

The point of all this is God.  

God IS the all-knowing and He IS in all of this mess, this tangled up chaos and crazy of adolescence, and He teaches us that the teen bonkers and the kiddo gossip can be cleaned up IF we hear Him and IF we are obedient. 

And now, at 46, that Jenny has become this one, and is finally doing the hard stuff. I'm listening to Him. I'm caring about what He wants for me. I'm allowing Him to love me. I'm being obedient. I'm responding. To HIM. And in responding and obedience to HIM, He's showing me what "hard" is, and how He can get me through it. 

Kids are not the only ones who gossip. I'm seeing firsthand, as an approaching-senior-status woman, that grownups are just as prone to tea-spilling as teens. Grownups in public AND private schools (who'da thunk?!?), grownups in church (what!?!?), grownups at grocery, and for sure, grownups on social media. I mean, where do we think the kiddos are getting it!?! It doesn't go away. But what I'm learning, personally, is that my reaction and position in the receipt or hearing of said story-sharing has changed dramatically, and it is causing me to really lean into Him and trust Him in those moments of going to the folks FIRST HAND, and opening up to those potentially sticky and uncomfortable moments. It's also turning those super tense, uncomfy moments into teachable ones, and holding my face to the fire, and giving me significant introspection, while keeping me just on this side of over-analysis and condemnation.  Reminding me who I am in Him, making sure I keep myself in check, and help my brothers and sisters in Christ (including students and colleagues, too) as we walk toward home.

I'm exhausted. 

But, y'all, God isn't. He's not that dude. He doesn't wear out or get tired or roll his eyes and walk off. He isn't the ostrich that I was- hiding in the sand when the "oh no, not this" comes our way. He rolls up His sleeves, scrapes us off the ground, looks us in the eyes with His "I've got you," and walks alongside us. He reminds us that He loves us, and that the hard is necessary; he tells us that we don't have to spill the tea- we don't even have to KNOW the tea- He does, and He's in charge, not us. He shows us that quiet is better sometimes, bitten tongues keep the pain from someone else, and giving pause is often the way to go.  

We really should use the WWJD way more often. It became such a campy cliche many years ago, but it's so, so true- we should genuinely filter our words, thoughts, and actions through WWJD glasses- seriously. I feel like we would see things so differently. 

If we could truly have our identity in who He says we are- if we could REALLY get in touch with that- what's on the glowglass wouldn't have such weight. Hearts and thumbs-ups and who we think "follows" us wouldn't carry the volume we sadly allow it to now. 

Take what you know about Him and how He feels about you and origami-fold THAT into your heart. Let THAT be the tea you spill into and onto yourself. His "tea"- His TRUTH- carries far more gravity than any other.