Transience and Fragmentation

It has been said that family is a "house of life and memory." We have our being in relation to what we have or do not have in the form of a family, and that is the life part of it. And we tend, either consciously or unconsciously, to base our hopes and skepticisms and other sorts of judgments of life and aspects of life out of the socializing power of that family life, and that is the memory part of it.

Often, I don't have much to say. I'm not always a big talker. And this regularly puts me in awkward situations. My Mom, without fail, would always ask me, first thing, after I put my backpack in the backseat and then hopped into the front there in the pick-up zone at Atlanta Elementary School, "So how was your day?" I would inevitably and compulsively utter back, "Fine." She was usually gracious enough to allow me that answer without much prodding, and I appreciated that in her, the willingness to allow me some measure of space to sit in my insecurities without continual efforts to rip off the veil.

Little did I know that I'd live out much of my existence answering that same basic question with virtually the same answer to my wife and work colleagues on into eternity. It's like a twitch. It really is interesting to me, this tension between personality as a psychosocially conditioned phenomenon and, simultaneously, as a biologically predisposed entity. Because no matter which side of that particular pendulum personality psychology swings, it still leaves us all with that burning curiosity, "Am I okay?"

You know, I was thinking yesterday of how much I have always feared those first experiences of meeting new acquaintances, the burning anxiety that causes me to question whether or not they will like how I talk, what I'll say, or how I look to them. As I stepped up to the microphone last night in front of well over a thousand college students I felt this, and it's so funny to me, because at the same time I also have this strange sensation of joy and confidence in front of people. I love it, and I dread it. I dodge my eyes around and hope that my voice doesn't crack at my first word.

And then I hear someone right near stage left, perhaps a couple of rows back, yell out something like, "Go Blake, WAHOO!" It's difficult to communicate in words that feeling that accompanies an encouraging "yee haw" like this. Even just one. It's like a string tied to that upper fatty portion of your cheeks that yanks your face a bit into a smirk and brings some color back into it at the same time. And I got to thinking about how much even I, someone who by most assessments has a good deal of self-confidence, am brought into being by approval. And so you get to wondering if it's a character flaw, the product of a genetic inferiority or social insecurity. Well, I say "you," but I really mean "I," I suppose, although probably most of the time I don't wonder, I just become a little bit more alive.

It's like stepping into the light. I mean to say that when we know someone approves of some part of who we are, it is as if that part of us becomes, for that moment or series of moments, illumined. The veil is lifted. There is no need for defense; a friend has come. Maybe a new friend. Maybe a very old friend. And if neither, then there is ne'er a better way to enter in than through approval. It's like throwing open the shutters to a dusty, drab, and drafty old shack. If breath is a natural indicator of life, then giving approval is like CPR.

The truth is that no matter how any of us conceptualizes who we are and what that means in this world, we are all little more than transience and fragmentation. We are without that full sense of home that brings abundant joy enough to cleanse us through. And we are, none of us, a monolith. We are a bunch of assorted pieces of life and memory, all from broken homes and broken families, and, piece by piece, there is not a single one of us who doesn't know that tinge of illumination that comes with approval. The need for approval can be compulsive, but just about anything can be. The truth is that we all need that sort of love in our lives if we are to become who we are meant to be.

I once read that we all have "character types" that generally define how we live life, and I suppose that is true to a point. What I am learning is that no matter what character type may define us, we all have the capacity to embody those qualities which St. Paul referred to as "fruits." Our character type influences the flavor of the fruit but the fruit can be good, no matter what type of person we are, if the tree is healthy, if it is connected to life. And if love breathes life into all things, then the best way we can become who we are meant to be must begin with approval.

It's almost intuitive. When you encourage another person, if it is something you really mean, and if it relates to that person's reality and isn't some out-of-context patronization, then it really can serve to illumine a piece of that person. Truly, it can even enliven that person's spirit toward the capacity for encouraging someone themselves, for approval breeds joy which breeds love. And love will not fail. Christ will use it, from its many beginnings, to breathe us into being and to usher in His Kingdom.