Do I see myself as I really am?
I should, but that doesn’t really mean anything. What if I have illusions about me? I would be the last to know! Terrifying!
C.S. Lewis wrote: “the prayer preceding all prayers….’May it be the real me who speaks, and the real YOU I speak to’ “. The real me who speaks? Sounds psychotic. But very human. My ability to justify me. Don’t have to teach children that one….
A friend brought something to my attention about me this week. Something I didn’t want to hear. Something, in fact, I could probably justify if I set my glib Irish tongue free. But I didn’t. I let it hurt me. He was only being honest. I should honor that. And I did. Now, I don’t take “constructive criticism” from everybody who offers it. That is a sickness in our society where having a mouth and an opinion gives ME the right to share it. But I was raised better than that. Your responsibilities are where your energies should lie. Not LIE lie. Just where they should be concentrated.
My father was a good man who didn’t suffer meddling critics well. And yet his personal character and honesty are the bar for me. He always let the truth hurt him when it should. Which means he had deep enough relationships with the right people who could speak the truth in love. (Not critical critics, there’s a difference…) And so my father increased his character and his sphere of influence. I LIE lied to him once that I can recall. Not a good day…
“May it be the real me who speaks…..” Yeah. The Real me. Not the one you see. Not the image I’m so careful to maintain out there. In here. Where there’s only God and me. At least I knew who the real me was. There’s a cost to increasing myself. I paid it. It hurt but I paid it.
Actually it was a good day, now that I think about it. Like playing with matches and burning yourself can prevent greater mishaps, if you let it.