Don't Judge A Person By Their Polaroid

I moved out to Seattle in May and, despite my constant exposure to change, I am not immune to the transition associated with it. We all adapt differently to change and I am beginning to recognize my own challenges in making a new place feel like home.

Recently, Richard, the head pastor at Bethany Community Church, stated that “intimacy is not microwaveable.” We cannot expedite our way into deep meaningful relationships by popping it in the microwave for two and a half minutes. It takes time, patience, and a lot of effort to create genuine lasting friendships. That was very hard for me to accept, as a woman who craves constant change. But as I let the idea marinate, I recognized the truth behind his words and found, in my own life, where I struggle to form intimate bonds.

When I first meet people, I see them as 2 dimensional. The facts I associate with them- their name (if I can remember it), occupation, home state, hobbies etc., become the only truths about them. Unfortunately, more times than not, these surface details leave a flat and relatively uninteresting impression. I forget to leave room for their character to reveal itself. As a writer and a people person, this revelation is nothing short of horrifying. Also, it confirms the origin of my least favorite habit.

I have an irrational need to spill my own soul to strangers and mere acquaintances. I want them to see my depth immediately for fear of dismissal or disinterest. I don’t want them to do to me, what I often do to others. In the process, I share too much, leaving myself vulnerable and exposed to those who didn’t earn my trust. Basically, I try very hard to microwave my own intimacy... always unsuccessfully. 

Fortunately, my 2D view is never permanent and always develops into something positive. Slowly (the way intimacy is meant to happen) I start to peel away the surface and delve into good stuff. My initial paper-thin perception starts to expand and gain width. This newfound girth creates understanding and compassion- revealed complexities leave little room for annoyance or judgement and make space for unconditional love. The 2D often captures an unflattering snapshot of a person, while the 3D allows us to dismiss the initial negative and reveal the infinite intricacies of human beings. Despite my awareness of this, I still find myself extremely surprised every time I encounter contradictions to my first impression. It’s like getting exactly what I wanted on Christmas morning without even asking. I love it. However, I do not approve of the instantaneous judgement that precedes it. So this week, I have turned my critical eye on myself in hopes of breaking my habit. Instead, I found I already harbored a superficial version of myself.  

To the inceptive eye, I am a talkative, friendly, confident army brat that feeds into the military stereotype of getting married young and hurriedly. I’m that girl that moved across country for the man she loved, who makes feminist cringe because she hasn’t figured out her career yet.  

All along, I’ve carried this 2D perception of myself in my sub conscience. Although a part of me knows I am more than that, I have given weight to the potential (not actual) misperceptions others might make of me. This need to be liked and understood breeds a damaging insecurity that can be paralyzing. Not to mention, it hinders intimacy. Despite the truth that I am a strong, independent woman (I moved out to Seattle to start a life knowing that my fiance would be deployed), my story is overshadowed by my insecurity that people will overlook my character and see this untrue shadow of myself as the whole package. 

To overcome this detrimental habit, I must let go of my 2D image of myself. I need to have grace for myself, so I can regain confidence and abolish insecurity. That way, I can look at other people with the same grace and stop the unflattering proofs from ever becoming photographs. Intimacy is not microwavable, but it is achievable if we are wiling to put in the time and overlook that initial snapshot. 

The Pearl Necklace: The Tale Behind The Title

I had the rare pleasure of growing up at West Point in upstate New York. While most military families rarely stay in one place for more than a few years, my father had the privilege of serving as a permanent professor at the United States Military Academy. I spent my sundays at the Cadet Chapel, surrounded by the nation’s future officers as they prepared for a life in the army. I found it interesting that one particular Chaplain would reach these uniformed individuals through heartfelt narratives. Once a year he would read the story “The Pearl Necklace”. 

It’s the narrative of a 5-year-old girl, Jenny, who desperately wants a plastic pearl necklace she sees at the grocery store. Her mother tells her that she can earn the $2.50 costume jewelry by doing chores. Jenny works hard for the necklace until it is finally hers. She wears the plastic pearls with pride and refuses to take them off for any reason- to her they are priceless.

One night, Jenny’s father asks her if she loves him. “Of course, daddy.” Jenny replies. “Then give me your pearls.” Her father says. Jenny refuses. She offers her father other respectable toys from her collection, but he simply kisses his daughter goodnight. 

The next night, the same conversation ensues with the same results. This continues for several night to come.

Then one evening, Jenny’s father comes to kiss his daughter goodnight and finds her waiting for him. Lips quivering, Jenny opens her hand to reveal her beloved pearls. “Here daddy.” She chokes and places them into her father’s hands. Jenny’s father then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a blue velvet case. Inside is a pair of real pearls he has been waiting to give to her.

Although it’s a little sappy, this story has always stuck with me. I remember not only its ability to convict me, but the effect it had on a congregation made up of America’s strongest and most intelligent individuals. At an age when we felt empowered, we learned from a 5-year-old that that we did not understand our best interests. 

I continually struggle to give up my illusion of control over my life. I use the word illusion, because I’ve never actually been in control. Again and again, I’ve worked hard to earn my plastic pearls and God patiently stands by asking me to give them up so that he can bless me with the real thing.  

Here is my story as it continues to write itself, the journey from plastic to pearls.