I’ve always been the “good” one.
Being “good” by outward Christian and general societal standards comes easily to me. I’ve never been one to party or sneak out. Drugs and drinking aren’t particularly attractive to me. I’m selective about the language I use. Never in my life have I fought with my parents. Respect is free. I thrive probably too well without romantic partners of any kind. Trashy tv shows and books have always been just that – trashy (music could be my Achilles heel though). I’m responsible when it matters most.
As a teenager, multiple completely unrelated friends confided in me that in ordinary conversations, as well as in the heat of arguments, their parents would say stuff like, “Why can’t you be more like Kaleigh?” or “I bet Kaleigh would have never done that.” It hurt their feelings, and I didn’t know what to do about it. I never tried or wanted to be that girl. Parents just liked me and encouraged their kids to be friends with me. To follow my example.
Because I was a “good girl,” I never felt like I was given many rules to follow. Curfew wasn’t a thing, my opinions on people and life really counted for something, boys could stay and hang out all night alone with me in my room, and my own judgment was trusted. No one ever expected me to go crazy, bursting into a full falsetto in the middle of the steady hum of my life.
But I’m far from perfect. I’m with me most of the time, and I can confirm this with absolute certainty. There’s just this drive in me to stay on the path. It’s not to please anybody – I suppose it feels good as a bonus, but pleasing other people is not the thing that pushes me to do much of anything. It’s more to please myself and God, as an extension.
I hold my morals very strongly. What you believe and how you behave is none of my business, and I’m not much of one to push my own agenda or condemn you for yours, but in my own life, what I hold to be right is the law that dictates my behavior. I know myself, and I know the things that will destroy me. I know the things I need to treat like fire. And I do.
Add to that my nature of being more of an observer that a doer, and I’m quite well behaved. If I’ve read it in a book, I’ve done it. If I’ve written about it, I was there. If I’ve heard someone sing about it, I’ve felt it. Having conversations with people in my head is basically as good as having real ones, which is probably one of the reasons why I’m such a happy loner. I don’t often need to experience things for myself for me to feel that fulfillment that comes with experiencing it, if that makes sense.
Bottom line, I’m good at looking out for me. I’m pretty okay at discerning the best plan of action for my actions.
Sounds good, right? My own hyper-self-awareness keeps me on track. But your best qualities are also your worst qualities.
Three years ago, I went on a mission trip to Mexico. On the last night, everyone on the team went around and said a few words about what the trip meant to them, and a middle-school-aged boy (of all people) said something along the lines of:
“It’s cool to be here and see people not just staying out of trouble, but actually going beyond that and doing something good. Making a difference.”
It’s a simple thing, and he said it with a careless shrug of his shoulders, but it’s really stuck with me.
There’s more to life than just staying out of trouble. So much more.
Sin doesn’t only come in the form of what you’re doing, but also in what you’re not doing. What you’re not, counts for what you are.
My biggest downfall comes not from what I am, but what I’m not.
James 4:17 says:
“If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them.”
The number of times I know what I should do, but don’t out of any selfish reason, is probably astounding. I take care of myself when it comes to the more outward faults, but I also take care of myself on the inward ones when I should be taking care of others.
It may come as a surprise to people who don’t know me well, but speaking and displaying my appreciation and affection for others comes extremely hard for me. I often think of nice things about people that they’d probably love to hear, but I feel inadequate at expressing it, especially to their face. Or someone can do something for me that means the world, but the most I can manage to say is a simple, “Thank you.” Is it a pride thing? An anti-social thing? An opposition to the warm and fuzzies of life? I don’t know. Whatever the root, it’s a deep flaw, and I know that.
Or when I think of something I could do to make someone else’s life easier, I have to choose whether or not to bring it up. It isn’t a no-brainer; it’s a full-on battle between my ugliness and the beauty of life.
If I have spare time that could be spent volunteering somewhere, I don’t often take advantage because I’d rather be at home reading or writing or something.
When someone asks me to do a favor that I really do not want to do, the grumbling of my own heart is louder than the singing of helping another person. That’s probably the very thing that makes me go to great lengths to avoid asking for help from others; I deeply hate inconveniencing anyone else on my behalf.
It’s terrible, I know. Never in a million years would I let on and make someone feel bad for asking me for something, but the feeling in my own rotten heart is just the same.
These are just a few simple examples, but you get the idea. It’s always been this way. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had the general instinctual attitude of “You have your stuff, and I have my stuff, and I’m not going to share with you, and I don’t want you to share with me.” You live your life, and I won’t go out of my way for you; I’m living my life, and I don’t want you to come out of your way for me. Going against that attitude is a very conscious decision. It does not come naturally to me at all.
Selfishness is the sin I fight with the most, and it’s just as ugly as the multitude of other more obvious ones.
Just because someone appears to have their act together maybe more than most others doesn’t at all mean it’s so. A gambling, drug, or sex addict could have the absolute purest of hearts. Their downfall just happens to be a more public display, but we’re just the same in the end.
No one is above the struggle. None are better than the rest. Tattoo that on your heart. Some walk around with some zombie-like qualities on the outside but are pure gold on the inside. Others look golden on the outside but have decaying organs no one can see.
And then some really are zombies inside and out, and you should probably run from them before you become one too. Remember that as well, because that can save lives. And brains. Just saying.