I need to confess something.
Using my iPhone, I take pictures and videos of the top of my head about once a month as a preemptive anti-balding reconnaissance mission. I look over the new intelligence and make an assessment regarding the purchase of some Rogaine.
I can accept that I will get older, but I don’t want to look like it. Someone is going to have to tell me when I’m too old for an eyebrow ring. And then again when I’m WAY too old.
I have this sense that once I get older I will have to give up on my passions. As if the number of hair follicles on my scalp must be equal to or greater than the number of great things I can accomplish for the rest of my life. I hide my fear of inadequacy behind my outward confident appearance.
Within my faith, there is one word that causes me to sweat in fear that my confident appearance will be breached and all defenses will be compromised.
Whenever someone casually tells me that his or her gift is spiritual discernment I quickly decide I need to get out of that room. I think “Surely this person must be hinting that she knows my secret sins. I’ve been given a chance to expose myself instead of being torn apart by this discerning person!” This most typically happens in a small group discussion and I spend the rest of the hour sitting in the circle feeling completely naked.
Usually, though, I’m not confronted by any discerners. But I’m glad it happens. God provides wise people in my life and I don’t get caught up thinking that the point of my faith is to fool everyone. Then I can live in grace. Then I can find forgiveness. Then I can share my sins and what I have learned from them.
Am I the only one who freaks out when a discerner is discovered?