not what you think

learning to see like Jesus

May 29, 2024

I turned off the kitchen light and walked to the top of the stairs, ready to go to bed. My phone was balanced on top of my glass of water in one hand (I know it's a dumb thing to do; don't try it at home, kids) and I opened the door with the other hand. As I took a step, I felt something squish under my slippered feet – something long and thin, like a cat's tail.

Grabbing the railing, I immediately hopped to my other foot, hoping it would not land on another part of the retreating cat, and was simultaneously conscious of a desperate need to a) not drop my phone and water, and b) not plummet myself down the entire flight of steps.

As all this was going through my mind, I whisper-yelled "I'm SO sorry!" and braced myself for the inevitable scream of a cat who's tail has been stepped on.

But, silence. No scream came.

I flipped the stair light on, and discovered I had apologized to a Nerf dart.

And this, friends, brings to mind that one time, long, long ago...

November 20, 2014
It's dark outside and I saw what looked to be an ambulance without its lights flashing, driving toward an elderly neighbor's house. I prayed, and prayed, watching from the window...and a few minutes later, realized I'd been fervently interceding for the recipient of a parcel from UPS.

Sometimes things just aren't what we think they are.

Among other dumb things I've done is taking the act of doing something dumb and mistaking it for being dumb. But no, doing and being, while related, are not the same things. I'm finally mature enough to admit this in writing and now consider it one of the wiser things I've accomplished in life (and whoosh, there goes humility, right out the window).

So yes, we all do dumb things, but we are not dumb. When we take on the fear of other people's opinions and the accusations of the enemy, we move from doing something to feeling like we are something, and it clouds our judgement about our identity. Those accusations and assumptions, real or not, tend to become our own accusations against ourselves. We forget who (and Who) we're dealing with, and tend to misunderstand both.

I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that was given you in Christ Jesus, that in every way you were enriched in him in all speech and all knowledge— even as the testimony about Christ was confirmed among you— so that you are not lacking in any gift, as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ, who will sustain you to the end, guiltless in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.
God is faithful, by whom you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.
– 1 Corinthians 1:4-9

I bring this up because it's the season for graduations, and the last time one of our kids graduated, the same thing happened. Not exactly, of course, and I think I've repressed the details, but the day was full and emotional and one kid got a lot of attention while other kids didn't get as much attention, and someone, I don't even remember who, misunderstood all the events and attention and blew up at the end of the day. I'm pretty sure it wasn't me – at least, I know it wasn't me at first, but no doubt after the first explosion, I had my own detonation, too.

Because parenting is hard, yo.

(Do people still say "yo?")

And hey, does asking make it obvious that I'm in my late 40s? Because Vince just turned 48 and that is so close to 50, and it seems like we're just racing there. So much racing, everyone, everywhere, all the time. For example, whyyyy do we only have three kids under 18 in this house now? I don't know how that happened and I never thought we'd actually get here. Also, I thought it would be easier, involving more things like vacations and newer vehicles and romantic dates with just the two of us, and less things like herbal supplements and poultry living in our bathroom and not-so-romantic drives to the courthouse.

But here we are, and it's nothing like we expected. But it's still good...usually.

I saw friends at the graduation whom I haven't seen in a few years, and we all look older, which I blame less on age and genetics and more on living through the bizarre lunacy of the last few years, post-2020. Things like crow's feet and wrinkles, and I'm sure they noticed the white streak in my hair, which, thanks to the sunburn I got the day before, had expanded by about thirty percent.

One friend asked what was new in our lives, and I blanked out. I mean, what is new? Deer in the headlights. There's so much, and yet also, so little. So there we were amid all these kids in caps and gowns and I answered, "Well...Afton just graduated." So profound.

We had been to two graduations in four days, and I'd seen kids I know, and kids I used to know, and kids who are related to people I know, and kids who I remember from galaxies far, far away, whose diapers I changed once or twice almost two decades ago. And this is wild, but also, nothing new under the sun; if you're older than forty and have lived in the same small town (or big state) for at least twenty years and attended high school graduations and such, you've known this, too.

So how is such a common experience still so surreal?

Because things just aren't what we think they are.

We think things (and people) stay the same, and while we say wise-sounding things that contradict this, deep down we don't expect people (or ourselves) to change. I saw that girl five years ago – how is she not still in preschool? And when we're confronted with those changes, it can be jarring. We laugh it off but also feel a vague sense of mistrust at the world, which has obviously been playing tricks on our memory and pulling the rug out from under us.

Hence, confusion and disorientation: We think of ourselves as a certain kind of complex but familiar person, but the world sees us differently – and even that's not the real problem because what the world thinks doesn't really matter. The real problem is that we see ourselves one way and God sees us another.

And this is where heartache lies, because if the way we see ourselves doesn't match how God sees us, all kinds of dumb, not-fun things ensue: Remorse, misunderstanding, panicked alarm over things that are not at all what we think they are.

If we could only see our value, worth, and mission the way He does, we would never care what the mirror, the bank statement, or the online acquaintance said again. We wouldn't rely on what only our eyes and ears tell us. We would see as He does, and trust Him.

We wouldn't worry about looking stupid or old in that photo; we would see joy and affection and accomplishment. We wouldn't agonize over someone's perceived rejection; we would recognize our own effort and generosity, and their distraction and overwhelm. We wouldn't assume someone was judging us because we would recognize we're not the center of their attention, and they wouldn't be the center of ours. We wouldn't be anxious about running out of time because we would remember that He holds time, and us, in His hands.

Knowing we are covered by grace, we would be eager to hand out that same grace to others, and it would cover a multitude of potential fallacies.

Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away.
For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away.
When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways.
For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.
— 1 Corinthians 13:8-12

We would live lightly, free from panic and despair over things that are no threat at all. Not in blissful ignorance, but in blissful awareness – wise to the schemes of the enemy, and solidly at peace with God's care for us, trusting and knowing that He is protecting and equipping us in the midst of everything.

We wouldn't live under the weight of false expectations; the Lord doesn't give us any of those. And we wouldn't walk under the burden of feeling ruined, like a failure, too late, or not enough. The Lord does not see us as any of those.

We would walk in freedom: Free from taking on a persona that is not truly ourselves. Free from assumptions and presumptions and burdens and identities that aren't ours to carry, as less or more than we really are because we have the plumb line of His perspective. Not insecure about who we are, but fully secure in Who He is.

Because when we recognize our need for Him, He sees us as breaking through idolatry and self-worship, recognizing our own imperfection, realizing our dependence on His perfection.

And we need to see it that way, too. It's the most important graduation; it's where all surrender starts.

P.S. If the way you see yourself involves things like self-sabotage, feelings of rejection, and fear of being disappointed, the premium newsletter comes out next week and I’ll be sharing some things the Lord’s been revealing to me in my own processing about this. Upgrade your subscription to get it, or if you can’t afford to upgrade, just let me know and I’d love to comp your subscription. xo

Shannon Guerra

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