New Year’s kindnesses; or, why I am like a coffee mug
I had planned to make some New Year’s resolutions. I really had. They were going to be things like “blog more” and “take more pictures” and “learn to use available programs more efficiently.” Also the usual suspects like “lose weight” and “spend less.” Scintillating stuff.
But then I remembered the times I had broken my new year’s resolutions, and how I beat myself up about it afterward, and then beat myself up for taking it so seriously, and so on.
For a few years, I made random resolutions that were easier to keep, like “floss every day” and “watch Citizen Kane.” That went pretty well, but wasn’t really life-changing or meaningful (although my dentist gave me an excellent report). I tend to drift back to the other kind of resolution, though, and was so tempted to do it again this year. Then I realized that I really needed to be kinder to myself. I want to treat myself, my inner person, as kindly as I treat other people. So this year, I will celebrate my successes, without setting up unrealistic expectations. I will speak kindly to myself, and give myself the grace I extend to others. After all, I am going to have to live with myself for my whole life.
Don’t get me wrong, goals are great. I love goals. I am on track to finish my PhD in 2012. I started running in October and can run 5k’s now. I’d like to run farther. I LOVE goals. What I don’t love is the self-flagellation that occurs when I don’t reach one.
I was thinking, in this vein, about my friend Anita’s coffee mugs. She collects artisan pottery coffee mugs. They are all different, and all lovely, in shades of soft greens and blues and browns. Some are tall, some short, some with handles, some without. They sit on her counter, a little flock of individual artistic works. I love to choose a different one each time I visit. I love the way I can see traces of the potter’s hands, the wheel, the kiln.
Anita doesn’t want a dozen perfect mugs that all match. That would not interest her one bit. As I thought about being kinder to myself, I thought about those mugs, and how Anita loves them because they are different, because they bear the marks of their respective journeys. Like us. I am a tall mug, a little lumpy, no handle, with one half of a good side, which I try to keep turned facing out. I’m trying to understand the miraculous truth that the Potter likes me not just in spite of this, but because of it.
I’m also trying to grasp the idea that it really isn’t the mug… it’s about the coffee inside.
here it is from the Message version of Corinthians:
“Remember, our Message is not about ourselves; we’re proclaiming Jesus Christ, the Master. All we are is messengers, errand runners from Jesus for you. It started when God said, “Light up the darkness!” and our lives filled up with light as we saw and understood God in the face of Christ, all bright and beautiful. If you only look at us, you might well miss the brightness. We carry this precious Message around in the unadorned clay pots of our ordinary lives. That’s to prevent anyone from confusing God’s incomparable power with us. As it is, there’s not much chance of that. You know for yourselves that we’re not much to look at.”
Unadorned clay pots… not much to look at. Yep.
So my New Year’s Resolution, as much as I have made one, is to not berate myself for being a lumpy clay mug, but to accept my own clay-mug-ness and point people toward the coffee, toward the potter, toward the light.
(By the way, if you haven’t read the Message, you are depriving yourself of one of the most beautiful translations of the Bible since the King James* version. And if you haven’t read the bible, you are missing out on one of the most amazing and beautiful books ever written. But do yourself a favor and try the Message translation; it’s good.)
*King James was kind of weird, but he had the KJV Bible produced AND was a patron of Shakespeare. In that sense, he helped shape Western literature. And Hamlet was very possibly based on his life. Interesting stuff… for another post, perhaps.
